Katharsis
by Ascoeur
Summary: Brittany, a naive city-wandering derelict, abandons home in search of life-altering excitement for her existence, and although in philosophical principle that seemed like a great idea, as she's left starving and unshowered in the streets, a stray toilet paper ad with bits of dried poop publicizing a strip club might just be the purpose she seeks. What curious individuals await her?
1. Chapter 1

The first signs of the dawn light shone and scintillated behind the forming silhouette of the city of Zenith, New York. The metropolitan streets were looking gray and empty, save for the occasional stray scrap of urban litter that broke free from the rest of the stash that was seemingly compressed in any available shady alley, as if the municipal cleaning staff conveniently pushed the trash aside to more inconspicuous corners, given that the city residents would be too absorbed in their own affairs to appreciate their efforts anyway.

Brittany S. Piece, a young blonde just turned 21 years of age, traipsed down the worn sidewalks of the awakening city, rotating her shoulders and stretching her arms as she appraised the morning sights the urban locality had to offer.

There really was nothing to see, though.

_I guess now is not the time for window-shopping_, she thought, shrugging as she continued down her way to the main city park.

It was 5 a.m. in the morning.

Of course it wasn't.

She had just recently arrived at the city of Zenith. She did not really have anything else to do, though. She had just lost her job as a Hooters waitress as a result of the manager replacing her for a 'bolder, friskier, and flightier' redhead named Jasmine, dismissing her on the account that she had neither the bust nor the rack to fully live up to and satisfy the customers' expectations of female aesthetics, which she thought curious for she had just been awarded employee of the month the week before and she thought Hooters was all about selling hot wings. Oh. Maybe… could that be it? Was it because she was not secretly a bird like the rest of the girls were? The manager _had_said that Jasmine was 'flightier' so it was the only logical explanation.

Brittany's shoulders slumped in despondency. _I thought the contract said they wouldn't discriminate against other species._

She soon straightened up with a sudden pump of determination, though. She wouldn't allow this job loss to get her down. She had now moved (well, more like hitch-hiked, but the details of the journey matter not) to one of the most prosperous, propitious, and promising cities in the whole of the United States—Zenith: the City of Dreamers.

She scanned her eyes about her environment contentedly, taking in the figure of a dull fire hydrant, a city rat being eaten by flies, an X-rated video store, and a random toilet paper-printed flyer advertising a strip club.

_It just doesn't look very dream-like yet because it's too early in the morning,_ Brittany reassured herself with a tight smile.

The quirky blonde nodded to herself, convinced that since she had no job, no love life, no companions, no home, no car, and no money, she couldn't possibly plummet any lower in the scale of epic life failure. She was already putting to shame the purposeless, uneducated bums and meandering college dropouts in the streets by virtue of her presence, and she had learned from her philosophy class back in her sweet high school days that once you scraped the feces residue at the bottom of the toilet bowl, you could only go back up (unless someone flushed the toilet and ended up sucking you further down the sewers, but she tended to ignore that part of the metaphor).

She added a slight skip to her previous trudging gait as she neared the park located at the heart of Zenith. When she noted the familiar city fountain at the center of the park, she knew she was getting close to her destination, but as she passed said fountain, she noticed the glimmer of an object submerged in the clear water.

Brittany crouched low and leaned her head into the fountain to get a better look, and when she realized it was a quarter, her expression adjusted to allow her lips to spread into a delighted smile.

"Yes!" she quietly cheered to herself, aware that it was still very early and disinclined to disturb the park's sleeping creatures. "The first signs that my optimism is being compensated!"

She was outwardly bouncing with giddiness now as she resumed her trip.

She panned her field of vision left and right, looking for the particular pattern of trees, flowers, and benches that would lead her to her temporary, makeshift dwelling—a discarded cardboard box from Home Depot. She had lived in that box for about three days now, if one counted the present day.

Now, she was by no means a homeless loser, even if at the moment that description suited her best. Brittany had lived a fulfilling life. She had received a high education, had participated in various sports, had made several friends, had spent fun school years, had lived under a loving if overprotective family, and had rocked her childhood and teenage years to the fullest.

These things were all fine and dandy, but now that she was making her debut into the world as an adult under the eyes of the law—well, that was back when she was 18, but she hadn't felt like one yet, so she decided to wait for the drinking age—she knew she had to officially begin her own life: living by her own rules, crashing at her own hours, working for her own salary, making her own contacts, and partying until she passed out… in her _own_ apartment.

It had all sounded marvelous to Brittany when she had one day abruptly decided to walk out of her home and abandon all traces of her previous life, all set with two incredibly packed purple suitcases, a Hawaiian straw hat, a pair of Barbie sunglasses, and a very grouchy Lord Tubbington in arm.

_I'm not sure where I went wrong in my plans, though, _Brittany thought, scrunching up her nose.

The first mistake was probably that, at the moment she took off, she really had no plans, just a general outline of what she wanted to do and where she wanted to head in her life. Lord Tubbington, her impossibly obese cat, had usually been her one constant source of guidance, but after he had left her one night for a drug addict that had offered him some weed, she found herself at a loss of what direction to take.

_Ah, Lord Tubbington, I never thought your heart so fickle_, Brittany inwardly voiced, pained.

In any case, the past was the past (no matter how recent… like, 'last night' recent), and her current goal was to find a job so that she could afford a modest living space, not that she was ungrateful for the carboard box, as she had seen other homeless bums struggling to find shelter from the rain and the brief, irregular bouts of snow—and sometimes even hail—that appeared to inadvertently befall the city at odd hours. She had overheard from passing locals that the weather was at times crazy, so she had chosen to desist mulling over the climate's bizarreness after a while.

Brittany halted her steps as she caught sight of her box, not very well hidden behind a pathetic-looking, anorexic tree. She immediately noticed a man sitting in the bench right beside her home tree. She appraised him, looking over his worn winter coat, his wrinkled pants, and his frayed shoes. His hands held what appeared to be a coffee cup from Starbucks, and it was slightly tipped to the side, for he was sound asleep.

She looked down at the quarter she held in her fingers and sent him a sympathizing look. She seemed to deliberate her next action, looking intermittently between the quarter, her box, and the man. After a few more minutes of profound consideration, she took nimble steps forward toward where he sat and quickly dropped the quarter in his cup.

_He probably needs it more than I do,_ she thought with a faint smile as she scurried off to her box, picked it up, and carried it off to someplace else so that the man wouldn't see her when he woke up—that would lessen the effects of the magic if he knew who it was that did him the kindness.

_It's good to feel good about doing good_, Brittany proudly thought to herself as she gingerly skipped off into the opposite direction of the bench.

Had she been a little more observant, she would have noticed the cup was filled with freshly poured Caramel Brulée Latte ©.

~ X~ X ~ X ~ X ~

Quinn Fabray rode into her private parking space, swished her glossy hair as she removed her helmet, and stepped off her luxurious motorcycle, straightening out her knee-length grey skirt and fixing her loose white blouse as she checked her overall appearance in the mirror.

_Flawless_, she thought hubristically, reluctantly detaching herself from her bike and sauntering into The University Of The State Of New York At The City Of Zenith (TUOTSONYATCOZ).

Ignoring the fact that the institution sounded like a Chinese black market car manufacturing company or a Japanese-Korean game brand conglomeration specializing in the module designs of perverted dating sims, The University Of New York At The City Of Zenith was quite the big deal in the city—no—the state—actually—the nation. In fact, the administration had thought that in order to accentuate the establishment's grandeur, and to avoid any association with commoner colleges like the University of Zenith at New York (UZNY), the Public University of New York at Zenith (PUNYZ), or the University of the City of Zenith at the State of New York in the United States (UCZSNYUS), a longer name would be necessary, hence the ridiculously protracted acronym as a result of the obvious inclusion of articles and prepositions; this was crucial, for if they hadn't added them, then the latter university might have beat them.

Imagine their disappointment when, throughout the years, enrolled students eventually shortened the acronym from "TUOTSONYATCOZ," to "TUNYACOZ," to "TUCOZ," to "COZ," and finally to a simple "Z."

The university was ranked right alongside the Ivy Leagues in prestige and recognition, and anyone with outstanding intellectual qualifications or financial assets could be admitted.

Simply put: hardly anyone.

But Quinn was not just _anyone_.

She was part of the remarkably, incredibly, and extraordinarily successful Fabray family. No, seriously. Success was somehow engineered into their DNA. No one had ever met a bearer of the Fabray name that had accomplished anything below the completion of a Ph.D. or the achievement of an authoritative position at any law firm, sales company, manufacturing factory, or hot dog stand.

In short, greatness coursed through their veins, and Quinn was no exception.

She had spread herself thin by becoming involved in almost every academic activity her secondary school had to offer, managing to excel at them all; she had participated in almost every physical activity imaginable to man, including bungee jumping, cup stacking, and parkouring. She had outstanding social, writing, reading, and public speaking skills, having won countless arguments and debate contests, only one of which she ended up in second place because she was tardy to the competition after having accidentally run over a coyote and heroically remained to tend to its wounds and later drive it to a clinic—where she was promptly awarded the "Honorary Animal Rescuer of the Year" certificate and had posed for a commemorative picture along with the town mayor that was to be framed and positioned at the main hallway of the establishment for all to awe at her ridiculously photogenic face.

Today, aged 21, with various experiences in life, countless of fawning men at her feet, several envious female colleagues seething about her person, and a law student at one of the most distinguished universities in the nation, she knew she had to be one of the happiest people on earth.

At the least, she was supposed to be.

But she wasn't.

She could think of a few reasons why she wasn't happy, but none seemed great enough to beget such an adverse influence in her life, or at the least she didn't think they_should have_ been.

"Good morning, Quinn!" the obsequious voice of one of her female classmates piped up as she entered the building. "How are you today?"

Quinn dismissed her thoughts and flashed her a practiced smile. "Hey, Karen, I'm as fine as ever. How about you?"

"Oh, I am sure the boys would agree with that," she teased, giggling. "I'm doing alright, too, though I am about to rehearse for my presentation on the ethics of the death penalty. I really need an audience. Do you think you could help me out if you have some time later?"

_Ugh…_, Quinn inwardly expressed, but outwardly she replied, "Of course, just tell me when you need me to help and I will try to make some time."

"Thanks, Quinn, you're the greatest," Karen gushed. "No wonder you're at the top of our class."

"It's a tough road to the peak," Quinn said, shrugging.

"I'll bet. Oh, I have to take the elevator here. I'll see you around, Quinn! " Karen said, walking off. _Arrogant Barbie._

"Bye, Karen!" Quinn said, waving. _Fake Bitch._

Quinn continued down the lengthy hallways, passing by the Fine Arts department on her way.

" _Remember that piano?_

_So delightful_

_Unusual "_

She stopped, hearing a mellifluous voice emerge to make its sound known to her ears. She graciously turned her head from side to side, searching for the source of the melodious singing. She casually ambled forward, so that any spectators that might have been watching her (because there usually _was_ someone following her, disturbingly enough) wouldn't catch anything out of the ordinary from her demeanor.

" _That classic sensation_

_Sentimental_

_Confusion "_

She noticed that the voice and, now that she was closer, the sound of a piano were both originating from the department's vast choir room. She peeked in through a small rectangular window located in the double-door entrance to try and catch a glimpse of whoever it was that was singing.

She saw a girl wearing a pair of relatively loose skinny jeans, a casual white top, and a carmine beret drooping to the side of her head as she became engrossed in the music.

" _Used to say_

_I like Chopin_

_Love me now and again "_

Quinn remained still. She neither entered the room nor left her bent-over position at the double-door window. If she wasn't so distracted by the choir room's environment, and the manner in which the unfamiliar girl availed herself of it, she probably would have been questioning exactly why and what kept her rooted to her spot.

"Quinn?"

The blonde jumped in surprise, but did not turn out. She recognized the voice as being fangirl classmate #0356.

"What are you doing?"

Quinn's body retained its cool exterior, but she was internally agitated, which she momentarily took the time to find strange because she wasn't doing anything bad—just appreciating music. So why was she—?

Quinn mentally slapped herself. _This is not the time to be contemplating my motives._

Her eyes shifted left and right, trying to miraculously find an excuse for her bent-over, slightly crouched position at a tiny rectangular window.

"Ah, zero—Zoey!" Quinn corrected herself, smoothly rising from her lower level and straightening herself out. "I was just on my way to the business department when I saw a smudge on the window to the choir room."

#035—err—Zoey's eyes widened in understanding. "Oh, I get it, Quinn! Since you are keen to the knowledge that our institution's janitors come in late from who knows how many other part-time jobs, and that they are so exhausted from the day's proceedings that they might miss a crucial cleaning detail such as the smudge on that window, you decided to save them the trouble tonight by removing it yourself!"

Shrug.

_I'll take it._

"That's exactly it! No one would doubt you're an Investigations Analyst major, Zoey," the blonde suavely praised.

The girl's smile impossibly widened. "Ehehe, thanks, Quinn! I guess I'll leave you to it then!"

"Bye!" The girl continued down her way. _Smart-Ass Floozy_

"See you!" Quinn waved. _Skanky Lickspittle Hussy._

Quinn swished her hair, stole one last sidelong glance at the girl in the choir room, and just as she was about to resume her path, she noticed a thin piece of toilet paper, with the silhouette of a dancing stripper poorly printed on the surface, crumpled beneath the door.

"… the hell?"

~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~

" _Rainy Days_

_Never say good-bye_

_To desire_

_When we are to— "_

" **My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard**

Buzz

**And they're like**

Buzz

**It's better than yours "**

Buzz

Harmony practically head-banged into the piano keys, releasing a jarring cacophony. She didn't even need to look at the caller ID to know who it was that had disrupted her mid-song. Not that she was surprised; the caller in question was uncannily skilled at screwing her over while she found herself at her best.

"What is it, Sugar?"

"Heeeey, HarHar," the girl on the other side of the line chirped.

"What's so funny?" Harmony queried, furrowing her brow.

"What do you mean?" Sugar questioned.

"You said 'hey' and then laughed," Harmony explained, like it was obvious… because it was.

"OH! That," Sugar shouted into the phone, finally understanding. "It's your new nickname."

"My what?" Harmony asked incredulously.

"Nickname; pet name; byname; appellation; an affectionate or shortened form of a proper name. I can keep going, I'm scrolling down the iPhone right now."

"Sweetie, I had already figured that wasn't coming off the top of your head, no need for justifications," Harmony replied, smiling mischievously into the phone.

"Ignoring that," Sugar said, slightly frowning. "So wha'cha think of it?"

"I think _ew_," Harmony expressed with clear distaste. "People will laugh at me after calling me that. No, scratch that. People will be laughing before they even realize they're laughing."

"Don't be so self-conscious," Sugar appeased. "How about _Mony_."

"Okay, for one, it's lame; two, it's so uncreative; and three, it makes me sound like what one of the unnamed horses from a banned and unreleased mystery edition of the My Little Pony's toy collection would be called."

"Psh, so hard to please," Sugar said, rolling her eyes. "Reminding me of someone's moooom—"

"Why did you call, Sugar?" Harmony asked, cutting her friend off and folding her arms.

"Oh, yeah, I almost forgot!" Sugar voiced, her voice elevating in pitch and her step picking up as she walked down the sidewalks of Zenith. "TODAY'S THE MEETIIIIIING! ! ! !"

"That's great, Sugar, now could you repeat that at a sound frequency that won't annihilate my eardrums?"

"The meeting. It's today!" Sugar gushed, trying to contain her excitement, but being unable to so opting instead to scream outside of the phone's range, scaring some bystanders within her vicinity.

"The meeting? What are you—oh. OH! The _meeting_!" Harmony repeated, fully understanding the source of Sugar's current exuberance. "That was today?"

"Yup. The date's on the document so I'm pretty sure it's happening today," Sugar reaffirmed cheekily.

"What's with that tone of voice?" Harmony said, narrowing her eyes.

"What about yours?" Sugar prodded smugly.

"What _about_ mine?" Harmony said, scowling on the other line.

"When is it?" Sugar deliberately continued her pestering.

"…"

"Sorry, what was that?" Sugar questioned innocently.

"I said I don't _have_ a date," Harmony mumbled, disgruntled.

"Oh, HarHar, someone will look your way soon, I promise," Sugar consoled condescendingly.

"Not _that_ kind of date. I meant date as in _calendar_. And my romantic affairs are none of your business. And also don't laugh at me. Wait, no, actually, was that that bizarre nickname again? For the last time, it's not going to catch on!" Harmony said, finishing breathlessly.

"How about Harmon?"

"Too fish-y."

"Harny?"

"Too kinky."

"Har?"

"Too hairy."

"Harmonaaaay."

" **I'm a Barbie girl**

**In a Barbie world**

"Hold up, Sugar, I got someone calling on the other line," Harmony quickly said, glad to be switching from Sugar to the new caller.

**Imagination**

**Life is you crea— "**

"What's up, Rory," Harmony greeted casually, shifting in her seat at the piano.

"Hi, HarHar," Rory said cheerfully.

"Ugh, not you too, have you been talking to Sugar?" Harmony questioned, exasperated.

"Yeah, it's a bit hard to ignore her calls when she's sending threatening text messages about tearing my shirt open, ripping my pants down, gagging my balls tight, shoving me in a dark closet, and leaving me locked there in starvation until I cry for mercy if I don't pick up."

"Hmm, strange, a lot of guys would kill for that offer," Harmony remarked aloud to herself.

"What was that?"

"N-Nothing. Nothing!" Harmony quickly shook the thoughts off of her head and cleared her throat to continue. "Anyway, just stop calling me HarHar."

"I only did it because Sugar said you secretly dig it when others called you that," Rory mumbled shyly.

Harmony shuddered uncomfortably. "Rory, now what's wrong with the sentence you just uttered?"

"You don't '_dig_ _it_'?" Rory said, shrugging.

"No, '_Sugar said_,'" Harmony clarified. "If it's coming from Sugar, more often than not, just forget something even came out of her mouth."

" **My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard**

"Speak of the devil…"

"What is it?"

"I'll get back to you, Rory."

**And they're like— "**

"Yes, Sugar?"

"You put me on hold."

"So?"

"_Without_ any on-hold music. I was getting bored waiting. What's taking so long?"

"I was talking to Rory."

" **I'm a Barbie girl**

**In a Barbie world "**

"Ah, there he is again," Harmony noted, listening to the ringtone cut into her conversation.

"Oh! Put us on 3-way!" Sugar said excitedly.

"Suuuure," Harmony said, complying with the click of a button.

"Harmony?" Rory called, unsure.

"Heeeeey, Roar!" Sugar greeted cheerfully.

"Hey, Sugar!" Rory greeted right back, smiling into the phone.

"Ror?" Harmony repeated, trying the unfamiliar sound out with uncertainty.

"Yeah, but you pronounce it 'Roar,'" Sugar gladly elaborated.

"It makes it sound manlier," Rory explained with a grin. "Oh, which reminds me. Harmony, do you think you could change my ringtone? I can hear it from my line when I call you, and others look at me weird. It's a bit…"

"Gay?" Sugar offered.

"I was going to say effeminate but if you want to put it bluntly…" Rory trailed off. "Not that I have a problem with that because you know that my pa—"

"Sure, Rory, just tell me what you want to switch it to; it was Sugar that was messing around with the ringtones anyway."

"I thought it fit him…" Sugar defended.

"I want _Macho Man_," Rory requested.

"See what I mean?" Sugar continued.

"He doesn't want a macho man, Sugar, he was talking about the song," Harmony explained.

"Whatever stops the nagging, HarHar," Sugar said.

"Don't you have somewhere to be?" Harmony queried, standing up from the piano stool.

"Hmm, now that you mention it, yes," Sugar said in sudden realization. "I'm trying to find the place where the meeting's going to be."

"Oh, isn't the address on the document?" Harmony reminded.

"You underestimate me," Sugar said, sounding playfully offended. "Of course I've looked for it on the document, and I'm pretty sure it's not there, unless the 103rd time is the charm."

"Once you find it, don't forget to schedule an interview," Rory said, aware of the meeting, since Sugar had talked to him about it for hours.

"For sure!" Sugar trilled, thoroughly enthused. "I'm going to hang up now 'cause I almost got run over by the same taxi cab for the fourth time—what are the odds, right!?_AND_ I've found the most intriguing piece of toilet paper."

"'Kay, talk to you soon, Sugar," Rory said, waving 'bye' at nobody in particular.

"Later, Sugar," Harmony said.

"Bye, Roar! Bye, Har_moan_y!" And Sugar promptly hung up.

"SUGAR!"

"Hmm, so you dig _that_."

"RORY!"

~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~

A small troupe of young college kids were walking down the streets of Zenith, their laughter echoing off of the various buildings as they aimlessly wandered about. Their late-night stroll eventually had them arrive at the city's central park. They continued to mindlessly chatter, joke around, and lean on and subsequently push one another as they ambled through the park's gardens.

"Hey, what's that?" one of the guys in the group said, calling to attention a curious object partially concealed by a scrawny tree and its adjacent bush.

The others turned and looked in the direction he pointed.

"Is that a… box?" one of the girls commented.

"No, Sharon, it's not just a box," another girl, Lucia, explained. "Judging by its texture, shape, logo, size, location, and color, it is _obviously_ a large, cubic, discarded, foldable Home Depot cardboard box."

"Oh, wow, sorry, I didn't realize there was _so_ much I had missed," Sharon sarcastically replied.

"It's okay, it's common amongst people like you," the other one said dismissively. "Just make sure that if you're going to say something, get it right."

While the two girls had become absorbed in their exchange, the other three college students had already made their way to the box. The blonde sleeping in the box began to gradually wake up as she heard the previously diaphanous noises become slightly louder. She stirred.

"Holy shit, it's moving!" one of the guys shouted, startled.

"Shut up, Charlie," one of the girls shushed.

She looked at the sleeping girl and then at the box, finding a name written on it. She cleared her throat and proceeded to speak.

"Psst, Brittany?" the girl called out with uncertainty.

Brittany stirred and slowly rose, looking dazed.

"God?"

…

…

…

"Um, no, it's just me, Jennifer, your average medical school undergraduate student, but you can call me that if you'd like."

"Oh, sorry," Brittany said sheepishly, scratching the back of her head and making her way out of her tiny box.

She stretched and curiously looked around at the five college kids that surrounded her. "How do you know my name?"

"Oh, it was written on your box," one of the guys, Jason, pointed out.

"Well, it was either that or the printed _SC-23236_," Charlie added. "Took the best bet."

Brittany giggled. "Oh, that! I thought that was short for South Carolina, zip code 23236, and I didn't want to be accidentally shipped to another state, so I wrote my name on it with some wet soil I found on the sidewalk."

The two guys raised their eyebrows.

"At least I _think _it was soil," Brittany later added, furrowing her brow.

The three girls exchanged horrified glances.

"I also drew a 'Welcome' mat on the bottom flap so that the box would look more home-y and less shipment-y. I even hung some leaves for decorations."

Everybody broke out laughing. And it wasn't the alcohol.

"Oh, gawd, you're killing me. How long have you been living in that thing?" one girl said, motioning to the box as she dried away tears of hysterical laughter.

"About three days," Brittany replied stoically. "I'm not counting the time these little girls found my box thinking it was full of abandoned kittens and reported me to the police, because I got taken to the slammer."

Everybody stared at her wide-eyed.

"I got to sleep under a roof for that one night," Brittany chirped optimistically. "Those girls were so sweet."

Everybody cracked up again.

"Oh, wow, just…. Ha ha… just stop… I can't…. wow," Sharon laughed.

Brittany regarded them with a puzzled look on the face.

"Ok, listen," Jennifer started.

"We just met you," Jason continued.

"And this is sort of crazy," Sharon said, rolling her eyes.

"But there's this nightclub," Lucia shared.

"You wanna come, maybe?" Charlie finished, wiggling his eyebrows.

Brittany immediately perked up. "Ooooh, I love knights, I think they're so gallant!"

Everyone laughed.

"Cool. Cool. So you're coming with us, then?" Charlie asked, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a piece of toilet paper.

"Charlie, get tissues like a normal person," Sharon said with a grimace.

"Nah, babes, the address for the nightclub is on here," he assured.

"Charlie, jot it on notepads like a normal person," Lucia said, stepping away from him.

"No, guys, I meant, all the info we need is on here, I found it in the bathroom after washing my hands!" he elaborated.

"Charlie, use paper towel like a normal person," Jennifer said with disgust.

"SHUT UP!"

"Charlie, just say it quietly like a normal person," Jason joked.

"UGH!"

Chalie took off in the direction of the club, and everybody followed.

"Charlie, hold up, walk slower!" his friends shouted.

"… Like a normal person," Brittany completed aloud, trailing right behind them as she skipped her way to the nightclub.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~

_Un-break my heart_

_Say you'll love me again_

_Undo this hurt you caused_

_When you walked out the door_

_And walked out of my life_

"Unbreak _my_ heart, Rachel, and stop singing that song," Kurt said, casually leaning on the doorframe marking the entrance to Rachel's carefully remodeled, meticulously designed, and maniacally kempt dressing room. "You're making me want to take this tie and choke myself with it."

"Ah, Kurt, you mean to say, my singing has so stirred your sentimental spirit that you are now choking with tears and feeling as though terminating your connection with this world in hopes of experiencing something beyond anything you have ever imagined?" Rachel replied, brushing the same area of hair for the umpteenth time, as she _had_ to be sure that no rebellious strand of hair would come erect like a stimulated penis during her performance.

But she really shouldn't be too stringent, for it was understandable; her voice _did_ things to people, even inanimate objects such as hair. If anything, her hair coming undone would probably only be a sign of her mind-blowing performance. Ah, let's be honest, sometimes her performance was so ineffably swaying that even _she_ felt like choking on her sobs, blabbering incoherent words of praise to herself, and walking off the stage to grab a recording camera and make sure the rest of her performance is captured for her to obsessively view in the nonjudgmental solace of her home.

Kurt opened his mouth to retort to her comment but he quickly closed it shut, sagely judging that it would be best not to reply, as Rachel had an excessively elevated self-esteem and arguing with her probably would probably only serve to arrive at a cul-de-sac.

"Look, never mind that, just tell me are you going to be ready any time this century?" Kurt inquired playfully.

"Yes, yes, just give me 20," Rachel said dismissively, too absorbed in her own reflection before the mirror.

"Well, alright," Kurt said, shrugging and getting on his knees. "But I don't see the point in push-ups at this point."

Rachel cracked an amused grin and turned on her stool, so that she was now facing Kurt and his charming antics. She had only known Kurt for about a year now, and although the first couple of months were tense – not in the sexual way - between them (what with her overwhelming diva-ness encroaching upon his), they managed to get inebriated, have a diva-off, pass out, and then work out their differences the morning after, what with killer hangovers and intermittent bouts of vomiting spasms pushing them to reach a quick agreement.

"Get up, you goof!" Rachel playfully chastised, muffling some of her words with her laughter. "I meant 20 MINUTES."

Kurt flashed her a droll grin and, from his facedown lying position, blew on the floor and bounced his body upwards to his previous standing position.

Rachel's jaw dropped.

"How did you do that! ?"

Kurt chuckled at the threshold. "Rachel, you know better than to ask that! A magician never reveals his secrets"—he winked at her—"Now, while I enjoyed our brief confab, if you will excuse me, I need to leave or otherwise my very distracting presence will hinder you from completing your pre-performance prepping sesh."

At that moment, a young lady wearing a floor length, shapely, and simple electric amethyst gown stepped into the dressing room. She audaciously sauntered in with an intoxicating grace, not bothering to knock or even check if the room was occupied, her hair swishing from side to side as she turned her head and her eyes scanned the room in search of someone.

"Kurt," she said curtly, making her way towards the young magician. "This is what I'm wearing for tonight's show. I need opinions – go."

"Rotate slowly to the right," Kurt requested instantly, placing the back of his hand underneath his chin.

The female youth did so.

"Um, guys, you know—"

"Now to the left," he ordered.

The female youth did so.

"Hey, so, as I was about to say—"

"Hands on your hips, and flash me a smile."

The female youth did so.

"Are you guys even listening to m—?"

"No, Santana, I don't want a cheap _grin_, I want a pink-eye-blinding, deserted-orphan-children-cheering _SMILE._"

Santana rolled her eyes in irritation but reluctantly obliged, promptly widening her smile to the point that her cheeks rounded with a cute blush.

"Now catwalk it, twirl when you turn, and wink when you're done."

Santana nodded and did as told, perfectly executing the instructions.

"I swear, you guys, stop ignor—!"

"Great, now take some tango steps, leap into a pirouette, land on your hands, do the cartwheel, and bounce to a finish."

"I can only take your bullshit so far, Kurt," Santana retorted with a smirk. "The wink? Totally unnecessary, and although it would probably take chains, handcuffs, and frozen cheese sticks up the ass for you to admit it, I straightened you out for at least _five seconds_ of your bent rainbow existence."

"Girl, please, you know me better than that," Kurt said, daintily crossing his arms. "I prefer zucchini."

"Whaaaaat? But the cheese melts between your ass cheeks," Santana argued presumptuously. "I would think that would better simulate the real thing."

"OKAY, NO MORE SUGGESTIVE PRATE IN MY DRESSING ROOM, PLEASE," Rachel enunciated loudly, stepping between the two engaging in their exchange.

"Berry, how long have you been there?" Santana questioned with a genuinely befuddled and slightly incredulous expression.

"Seriously, does NO ONE pay attention to what I'm saying? This is _MY _dressing room, ergo,_ I_ am here," Rachel clarified, exasperated.

Santana shrugged breezily. "You can't exactly blame me, your stature plummets beyond freakishly miniature, honestly, I keep hoping that one day one of Snow White's dwarves will come and mistake—no—_recognize_ you as one of them and kidnap you so that I don't have to trip over you every time I'm rehearsing my numbers."

Rachel inhaled deeply, held her breath, and then exhaled at length. "Just… Santana, may I inquire as to why I have been presented with the… _opportunity_ to be in your presence?"

"I just needed Kurt to confirm what I already knew."

"You're smokin'," Kurt singsonged.

"Uh-huh, alright, fruitcake, just 'cause I converted you doesn't mean you can get all up in my grill," Santana cautioned assertively, gesturing to herself, or more like, her cleavage. "If you want the recovery potion, then Imma just hand you over to Berry, one night with her is guaranteed to bring back all recollections of your despondent disillusions with the opposite gender."

Santana laughed, a surprisingly mellifluous sound considering the source of her mirth.

"Berry, I think I cracked more gay jokes during this 5-minute exchange than Kathy Griffin has during her two-hour specials," Santana chuckled, shaking her head in self-satisfaction. "Gawd, you should've been there."

"… I _was_ there."

"Hmm, yeah, now that you mention it, I think we did establish that at some point in the recent past," Santana mused to herself. "I dunno, most of the time I try to erase all traces of your existence from my memory, and only deign to dig it up when I'm forced to interact with you."

"All right, bon-bons, I got to go," Kurt announced, slipping one hand into his sleeve. "And, Rach, before I go, you might want to rethink those clothes."

"What? Why? What's wrong with them?" Rachel said, genuinely offended. "I mean, look, my wardrobe should be fine, even Santana hasn't commented on it."

Santana, who had retired to repeatedly slap one of Rachel's homemade bubbleheads of herself, shrugged and casually said, "What? Nah, you look whore-e-fic, but saying something would imply that I cared."

"Well, considering the place we work at, that's probably a desirable aim?" Rachel reasoned, albeit partially insulted as she thought that her choice of apparel was quite fitting and decent.

"Berry, like, you've been here trolls-know-how-long-certainly-not-me, but let me explain to you who, where, and what you work for exactly, since it seems you haven't caught on," Santana began, walking over to Rachel's vanity, sitting on her special cushiony chair, and checking out her own reflection on it, confidently smiling. "Katharsis is a smexy establishment generally known, first of all, for its diverse clientele: bourgeoisie swine, perverted but financially able teens, depravedly wanton college students, sexually frustrated mafia members, nefarious kinky internet deviants, and the occasional innocuously bewildered virgin that accidentally steps in thinking this is another kind of 'entertainment center.'"

Santana stopped to take a breather, grabbing Rachel's champagne, pouring herself some of it into an elegant glass, and then taking a sip before continuing with faux enthusiasm. "But that's not all! We are not your regular old nightclub. We offer several forms of entertainment ranging from the relatively _innocent _erotic song performances, spicy shots drink-offs, sex toy shops, vulgar lap dances, and wanky magic shows"—Kurt took a bow—"to room rentals for naughty high jinx, shady all-you-can-fit-in-your-car prostitution services, sick fantasy-fulfilling role-playing sessions, and wicked internet private performances for our more timid, underage, but no less lecherously corrupted audience."

"And food, don't forget the food," Kurt added. "Now, buttercups, as it seems I am getting repetitive, I will _now_ take my leave."

Kurt slipped his hand from under his sleeve and, following the almost imperceptible sound of a pop, a puff of smoke immediately materialize, quickly rose, and entirely enveloped Kurt within its colorful gases.

Rachel and Santana's eyes watered as they coughed and swatted their hands back and forth in an attempt to clear the air.

"Gawd, what the hell WAS that! ?" Santana fussed, looking around the room for Kurt.

"Judging by the smell, I believe _Sasha Varon Soulgasm_," Rachel supplied, coughing again.

"I wasn't talking about the fragrance, Berry, but uh stupid name much?" Santana remarked snarkily. "I meant, how in the hell did he pull that teleportation shit?"

Rachel sighed, "It's not teleportation, Santana, it's just a magic trick. He probably ran out as soon as we couldn't see him. I think the gas is deliberately supposed to strain our vision."

"I don't believe your pragmatic hogwash," Santana said, huffing. "I swear that boy's a freak. A pretty, fashionably sensible, god-sent freak."

Rachel smiled. Santana obviously liked Kurt. She couldn't really infer much from her own relationship with her, but Santana hadn't tried to kill her in her sleep as she had repeatedly threatened to do during several drunken fits, so that had to mean something, right?

"Why are you staring at me like a creeper?" Santana questioned, disturbed. "Oh, no, don't tell me I turned you, too? Damn my outrageously good looks."

Rachel sighed and internally rolled her eyes. "I just happened to be gazing in your direction as my thoughts drifted to our new form of advertisement."

"Ugh, don't remind me, it sickens me to think about it. I can't believe Sue would actually enlist toilet paper as a legitimate form of advertisement. I mean, seriously—"

~ X~ X ~ X ~ X ~

"—what in fuck's name is she thinking?" Puck voiced incredulously, shaking his head and directing his gaze at no specific location as he talked on the phone with his half-brother.

"Look, man, I don't know your life, wha'cha asking _me_ for?" Jake countered from the other line, purposelessly shrugging, as there was no one to see him.

"But what does that say about us, bro? That we're _shit_? You gotta look at the metaphorical undertones and crap."

"You mean the symbolism?" Mercedes interceded, making her way over to Puck's DJ booth. "Listen, boy, you can view it this way: it's something people can use; they clean their butts, or lord forbid, their _noses_ with it, so they'll be sure to pocket it, and when the time arrives that they need it, they'll take it out, do their biz, and then notice what's written on it."

"Huh," Puck said, uninterested, hanging up his cellphone.

"Yo, Bro, are you still there?" Jake asked. "… Hello?"

"Like, after they clear the brownish butt-residue or the green slimy snot off of it…right?" Sam supplied with uncertainty, having left his bartender post to join the conversation.

"Why, surely so, they can't read the words printed on the toilet paper if some of their excrement is smudging it," Artie reasoned, wheeling himself into the small circle that was beginning to form around the booth. "It's actually quite a brilliant idea."

"Let's me just say that," Puck began, lifting his palms up in defeat, "it's definitely something that shrew bosshag Sue would pull."

"I saw Becky riding her scooter and littering the roads with rolls of those things," Artie added. "She still had her chef hat on."

"It didn't fall off with the wind?" Mercedes questioned, puzzled.

"Maybe she taped it to her head… with Velcro," Sam speculated with a dark expression.

"Naw, don't be ridiculous," Artie said dismissively. "That's too far-fetched."

"Yeah, it's obvious she's wearing a wig attached to a chef's hat," Mercedes concluded easily. "It's the only plausible explanation."

"…Special Steadfast Stick Supergloo," Sam continued listing his mind's machinations.

Puck slammed his head against a wall in irritated despair. _Why is a stud like me stuck with these losers?_

"Alright, LISTEN, that shit is only going to ruin the non-existing shreds of 'classy' we have left to lend to this whorehouse," Puck cut in, agitated. "If business slows down, we don't get paid, and if I'm not getting paid, I quit. And let's get real for a minute, once I'm gone, this place doesn't stand a rat's chance. I vote we march to her office and talk the crazy out of Sue."

"Boy, you're talking about getting real? Okay, for one, if you were to leave, we'd reel in the masses so tight, the business would expand to international levels. And two, when has talking ever solved anything?" Mercedes finished skeptically.

An explosion of colorful smoke broke out and everyone gathered in the DJ booth began coughing violently.

"According to America's marital statistics, not much," Kurt supplied, poofing into existence.

"DUDE, WHY DO YOU ALWAYS GOTTA DO THAT!?" Puck yelled in exasperation, furiously rubbing his eyes so that no one will see that the gas actually caused him to tear up.

"Kurt, hun, we love that you're all magician extraordinaire, but do you think you could maybe mix chemicals that won't cause me premature vision loss?" Mercedes questioned.

"Yes, less toxic would be preferable," Artie agreed, cleaning his glasses.

"Wait… waaaait… nope, I'm blind," Sam recognized in defeat, sighing. "Guys, I wish I had been able to appreciate the last moments I had been granted to treasure your glorious faces, it's something I'll regret for the rest of my dark life… literally."

"Um, Sam," Artie began.

"Oh, yeah, except for your face, Artie," Sam amended. "No offense, but your glasses magnified your eyes so much, you looked like the bug-eyed damselfly."

"…"

"Which creeped me out, 'cause, you know, you're not a damsel."

"…"

"But you're pretty fly."

"…"

Mercedes rolled her eyes. "Goldilocks, fix your bangs."

Sam flipped his hair, caught Mercedes in his line of vision, exuberantly smiled at his recuperation, and then promptly turned to everyone to give them a hug—

"AAAAAAAAAHHHHHH!"

"Seriously, you were fine with looking at me 30 seconds ago!" Artie chided.

"I hadn't come into terms with my phobia," Sam relented, looking away.

Puck chuckled.

Kurt sent him a bitch glare.

"What? He's an ugly motherfucker," Puck said, shrugging.

"That aside," Kurt continued. "We all have to start getting ready. It's about to be nine o'clock. It's going to get busy in here."

"Oh, yea, the time when the child predators and sexual offenders emerge from their nocturnal caves," Puck said, nodding to himself. "And come… here."

"Hey, so long as they got the assets, I'll bring them the asses," Artie said, in business mode.

"Kewl," Sam laughed, nodding his head. "Well, I'm gonna head back to the bar and experiment with some shots."

"I'm just going to chill here and work on some remixes," Puck said, pointing to his booth.

"I'm gonna head backstage and look for Santana and Rachel, warm them up," Mercedes announced.

"I gotta look over some ho-files and review the script for tonight's show," Artie said.

"All right, then, let's break!" Kurt said, snapping his fingers and promptly releasing another rainbow smoke bomb.

"FUUUUUU—!"

~ X~ X ~ X ~ X ~

Brittany deliberately lagged behind the group of eager college kids, taking her time viewing the nocturnal scenery of the city of Zenith.

She had not had much time to appreciate the nightlife these past three days, what with job-hunting at Taco Bell, Bath & BodyWorks, and a potato clock stand; food-scavenging in Walmart trash containers, recycling bins, and church charity meal donations; and shelter-seeking at an elementary school tree house (which fell over as she slept), trying to post and reply to craiglist roommate ads while accessing the internet through Barnes & Nobles display Kindle Fire tablets, relishing that one time she was detained at the police station, and finally landing her Home Depot box.

As one might imagine, it was difficult to concentrate on other leisure activities while she was desperately scraping for the means to her survival.

As Brittany was too distracted with her inner musing, she lost track of the college kids she had been following, and now realized that she was left alone.

Well, not exactly.

She actually found herself lost and pressed within a huge crowd of people, dispersed throughout the street, all heading the same way.

Brittany directed her gaze in their direction, and identified one of the largest, most shady-looking, yet paradoxically most luxuriously majestic buildings she ever had the pleasure to view in her cosmically insignificant life.

Brittany swallowed, trying to recover her voice.

"Wow…"

She kept her eyes on the building, guiding herself closer to the building by the push of the masses, not attentively seeking the entrance because she knew that, sooner or later, she would be admitted into the institution.

"This is it—WHOA!"

"OUCHIE!"

Brittany accidentally bumped shoulders with one of the attendees, and immediately turned to apologize to what she found to be a pretty blonde, with fine features, a nice figure, and a very perplexed expression on her face.

_Oh, right, apologies before judgment, _Brittany internally reminded herself.

"Sorry."

"That's alright," the other girl smiled, and continued on her way, biting her lip as she neared the entrance.

Brittany immediately lost sight of the girl as she became enmeshed with buzzing throng, but she felt herself close to the entrance because the people were now tightly pressed against one another.

As she tried to find a space to squeeze through, she inadvertently locked gazes with a petite girl donning brown and purple highlights on her hair, holding a tight grip to her phone, wearing an exceedingly elated expression, and engaging her with an intensity to her eyes.

They stared at each other.

And stared.

And stared some more.

And then stared a little longer.

And then continued to stare for some more time.

And someone pushed Brittany forward to she couldn't keep staring anymore, but she wasn't really regretting it, because she knew she was about to lose the staring contest since her eyes were tearing from not blinking, so she was glad to have an excuse to forfeit.

_No shame,_ Brittany repeated in her head, as a mantra. _Honorable Defeat._

Brittany finally made it to the giant double doors, and gulped in anticipation. She followed the mob in, and as soon as she was inside, she heard the microphone-amplified booming voice of the dainty host on stage.

"Welcome to Katharsis, you freaks!"

Cheers and laughter.

"Let yourself loose, enjoy the booze, check out some kaboose, and now without further ado, it's time to watch the crew, and get this show on the move!"

And Brittany eagerly observed as the club darkened, the lights on the stage lighted, fog began to invade the space, and five silhouettes emerged on a platform.

* * *

Please ignore any recent updates you might see for Ch. 2. I was playing around with document uploads and I did it too many times. I'm not sure but I think fanfiction is experiencing some delays right now according to what other users are saying, so some "fake" updates might come up. Please bear with that, I messed around for too long so it'll probably only repeat up to 3 or 4 times in your e-mail. If you don't know what I'm talking about, it's cool, you'll see soon. Thank you so much for reading! I just want to have fun with this piece, and improve my rusty writing skills!


	2. Chapter 2

The crowd cheered and whistled in alacrity, the atmosphere of the club inspissating with anticipation.

_They're all super excited_, Brittany thought to herself, becoming quite giddy herself due to the contagious enthusiasm traveling amongst the bodies packed about the stage.

Suddenly she heard a voice belt out from the lead silhouette behind the silk curtains that veiled the forward part of the back of the stage.

" _Where's all mah soul sistas? "_

The audience cried out in exuberance.

"_Lemme hear ya'll flow, sistas! "_

A woman with dark chocolate skin came strutting out from behind the thin curtains with much spunk, while the rest of the silhouettes remained immobile with a statue-like grace in their low pedestals.

Immediately, Brittany heard someone frantically yell out a "SPAAAAAAARKZ!" in his excitement.

_He could have spared my eardrums, _Brittany thought, a bit disoriented. _New Yorkers are kind of rude…_

" _Hey sista, go sista, soul sista, flow sista "_

From their still rigid positions, Brittany would not have guessed that the mellifluous vocals were emanating from the statuesque women concealed by the curtain.

" _Hey sista, go sista, soul sista, flow sista "_

The still silhouette at the far right of the line of shadows daintily stepped off her pedestal and charismatically spread apart the draperies in order to reveal her presence.

" _He met Marmalade down in old Katharsis! "_

Brittany was immediately startled to hear her the girl's illustrious voice belt out the first string of lyrics to the opening song, for her grandiose pitch was quite a contrast to her low stature and lithe form.

" _Strutting her stuff on the street "_

Brittany briefly turned her attention to her accompanying fellow audience members to see what their reactions to the first girl's appearance was, and she was a bit embarrassed to see them regard her with normalcy but nevertheless awe-struck contemplation.

Another person shouted "SPHENEEEEEEEE!" at her right, and she was once again temporarily deaf.

It was quite obvious she was a noob.

" _She said, 'Hello, hey, Joe, you wanna give it a go?' OH! Uh-huh! "_

The young noob, however, stopped feeling too self-conscious after she noticed that another blonde in the room was just as shocked to hear such a powerful frequency be generated from the short girl's vocal chords.

_Oh, it's that girl from before! _Brittany thought after miniature Brittanys in her brain briefly ran through her facial memory files. _Hmm, it's a small world._

Sphene and Sparkz came together to sing the chorus, with the remaining silhouettes singing the back up.

" _Giuchie, Giuchie, ya ya dada (Hey hey hey)_

_Giuchie, Giuchie, ya ya here (here)_

_Mocha Chocalata ya ya (oh yea)_

_Creole lady Marmalade "_

Brittany felt herself being squeezed in the crowd as they rocked in place along with the song.

The silhouettes sang the reprise along with the two currently at the front of the stage.

" _Voulez-vous coucher avce moi, ce soir?_

_Voulez-vous coucher avec moi? "_

Brittany peeked at the blonde girl that was standing buried in the crowd a couple of feet away from her, and after she spotted her, followed her gaze to the stage. She was intensely watching the performance, her eyes completely captivated. Brittany knew her eyes were locked on a specific target onstage, but she couldn't decipher what it was that her line of vision was tracking.

" _He sat in her boudoir while she freshened up "_

The silhouette at the far left of the line stepped off her pedestal and with a coy, almost demure look, walked through the curtains and into the spotlight.

" _Boy drank all that Magnolia wine "_

Brittany took note of how pretty and fit she was. She did not exude as much sensuality as the first two singers, but she had her own charm to deliver as she flipped her hair and flashed an adorable smile to the swooning audience.

" _On her black satin sheets is where he started to freak "_

" _Yeah! "_

Brittany loved her voice. It was honey-sweet and the way she conveyed her tunes was angelic.

"KIKIIIIIIII!" another guy shouted with fervor, right behind her.

_Why do I get the screamers?_ Brittany thought miserably, sure that her ears were probably bleeding by now.

" _Giuchie, Giuchie, ya ya dada (Hey hey hey)_

_Giuchie, Giuchie, ya ya here (here)_

_Mocha Chocalata ya ya (oh yea)_

_Creole lady Marmalade "_

Kiki joined Sphene and Sparkz for the reprise, and the silhouettes that remained at the back moved sensually and lifted their index fingers and swayed them in a beckoning motion toward the audience.

" _Voulez-vous coucher avce moi, ce soir?_

_Voulez-vous coucher avec moi? "_

The left silhouette of the pair, another dark-skinned woman with a whole lot of attitude, jumped off her pedestal and advanced to the front of the stage with confidence.

" _Yea yea uh_

_He come through with the money in the garter belts_

_I let him know we bout that cake straight up the gate uh "_

Brittany shook her head in tune to the beat. She had always been a fan of rap, even she looked like a pathetic black-rapper wannabe white chick (which she kind of was) every time she attempted the feat.

" _We independent women, some mistake us for whores "_

The four singers now on stage let out a dramatic sigh at the line, relaying the pretense of misunderstood women to the crowd.

" _I'm sayin', why spend mine when I can spend yours_

_Disagree? Well that's you and I'm sorry_

_Imma keep playing these cats out like Atari "_

Sphene sashayed to the right wing of the stage and rubbed her forefingers and thumb together in the universal indication of 'money.'

" _Wearing high heel shoes, getting love from the dudes_

_Four bad ass chicks from the Katharsis "_

They all took a challenging pose together and rose their eyebrows suggestively.

" _Hey sistas, soul sistas, betta get that dough sistas "_

The rap started up again.

" _We drink wine with diamonds in the glass_

_by the case the meaning of expensive taste "_

Brittany heard someone yell out an overzealous "TRIXYYYYYYYY!" at the girl that was rapping on stage.

And, as her luck would have it, the person was right in front of her so this only served to further impair her hearing.

She was becoming quite accustomed to her incredibly appalling share of fortune.

_Hmm, what are the odds, all the screamers surrounding me in a square formation, _Brittany mused to herself, and then proceeded to deviate her attention from the performance to thoughts of exactly what the probability would be for an individual to encounter and be entrapped by boisterous beings in a sweaty geometric cluster.

Brittany had always been quite the introspective person, in the sense that she was someone whose thoughts could keep her entertained for several weeks and could find it in her mind to amuse herself with creative stories about sweet and innocent things such as unicorns, hairpins, llamas, nose flutes, and chinchillas or even more tragic storylines involving Lord Tubbington's tobacco addiction, the demise of a shriveled-up cockroach in her drying machine, and the crushing separation anxiety incurred at the loss of her childhood sock puppet while showing it the sights from the car window and having it slip off her hand to be smacked into the paved road by the force of the momentum and repeatedly run over by cars in the freeway.

She was also capable of holding sophisticated internal exchanges with herself on a number of topics ranging from personal opinions on U.S. foreign policy and intervention concerning the Canadians, on the effects of current solar flares affecting the earth's climate and the simple solution of moving to another galaxy, and the rare sightings of India's Parastratiosphecomyia stratiosphecomyioides flying about the air.

" _if you wanna Giuchie, Giuchie, ya ya_

_Mocha Chocalate-a what?_

_Creole Lady Marmalade_

_One more time C'mon now "_

Brittany broke from her thoughts and became a little anxious about having missed some of the performance. She saw the crowd was still just as excited as ever, but she didn't like that she had so easily phased out. It was kind of mean not to watch the number the singers had so strenuously rehearsed for this night.

" _Marmalaaaaaaaaaade..."_

Brittany observed the surrounding throng become a bit restless, their excitement proliferating and inundating the already spirited mood of the large room with an even more remarkable quantity of expectative energy.

" _Lady Marmalaaaaaaaade..."_

All eager eyes kept a watchful view of the abiding silhouette still gloriously mounted on her pedestal and reconditely veiled by the silk draperies.

" _Marmalaaaaaaaade... "_

The four ladies at the front of the stage harmonized and continued to heighten the tension that was building up at the core of the audience members.

Then, finally, the vocal synthesis reached its climax and a distinguished, husky voice sounded its entrance to the show.

" _Hey… hey…. Heeeeeeeeeeeeey! "_

The final girl to step off her pedestal did not even have to bother draping aside the curtains, for the silky shades removed themselves as she fearlessly swaggered through, suavely swishing her obsidian tresses as they dashingly cascaded over her shoulders and broke into ripples of wavy curls that perpetuated their undulating whirls in the likeness of multiple hypnotic spirals.

Well, Brittany was quite hypnotized all right.

_Look at them spin,_ Brittany distractedly thought to herself, finding it curious that she was attempting to focus more on different features of the resplendent girl rather than the girl herself. _It's not nice to stare, so…_

" _Touch of her skin feeling silky smooth "_

The girl made a show to suggestively graze her delicate fingers over her tanned, olive skin, touching her upper body, lightly coming into contact with her breasts, and then finishing by outlining her curvature and teasingly tapping her hips before driving her hands away.

The few girls in the crowd squealed and, disturbingly enough, the guys did too.

" SAPPHIREEEEEEE!"

"SAPHIREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!"

" _Color of cafe au lait…. All right! "_

The desperately erratic cries and calls intermittently burst from various spots in the blurred audience. Brittany was kind of sort of maybe but not really officially ear-dead at this point, but she surprised even herself at realizing that she did not give a baboon's flaming ass, because the almost stuffy silence through which she beheld the spectacle only served to lend the latest girl an even more surreal stroke to her presence.

" _Made the savage beast inside roar until he cried "_

Brittany gazed at the girl's full lips as her mouth curved in accordance to the composition's lyrics and her tongue rolled out the various vowels, consonants, and syllables that forged the melodic sentences that were driving the masses mad.

" _More…. More…. Moooooooooore! "_

The crowd cheered and shrieked in gaiety when, suddenly, five compartments at the bottom of the stage slid open and out slowly ascended five poles, a pair of brass, one of stainless steel, one of chrome, and one of titanium gold.

" _Now he's back home doing nine to five, " _Sphene sang, redirecting the crowd's enamored attention to her as she walked to her brass pole, sliding her back seductively down it.

" _Sleepin' the grey flannel life, "_ Sparkz, Kiki, and Trixy chirped, taking the chrome, stainless steel, and titanium gold ones respectively.

" _But when he turns off to sleep memories creep, " _Sapphire's voice once again rang out, enrapturing the audience with her alluring twists about the pole.

Brittany was unable to remove Sapphire from her line of sight for the remainder of the song. Although quite lewd and indecent, the enchanting brunette's expertly fluid movements against the pole really attracted Brittany's admiration. The blonde's favorite pastime was dancing, but pole dancing was something she had never attempted before, for obvious reasons (the pole shipped by Amazon wouldn't fit in her mailbox so there was no sense in ordering it, duh).

" _More…. More… Moooooooooooooore, "_ all five of them cried in harmony, riding up their poles lasciviously.

" _Giuchie, Giuchie, ya ya dada (Hey hey hey)_

_Giuchie, Giuchie, ya ya here (here)_

_Mocha Chocalata ya ya (oh yea)_

_Creole lady Marmalade "_

Brittany ceased her shameless leering—err—respectful appreciation when she felt the unmistakable sensation of someone eyeballing her. She turned her head to the right to try and find the source of her tingling perception, but she was only met with the figure of the other blonde girl that she had bumped into earlier, still staring unrelenting at that unidentified target on stage. She scratched her head curiously and then panned her vision to the left, where she was met with vehemently insightful mocha orbs unswervingly holding her own surprised gaze.

" _Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir (ce soir)_

_Voulez vous coucher avec moi (all my sistas yea) "_

Brittany inwardly panicked.

It was that girl with the highlights.

She couldn't escape this staring contest now, as she had no excuse to get out of it. She had already lost once, and she did not want to experience the devastating feelings of crushing defeat at the hands of a stranger again (let's not even _begin_ to recount her one-sided ping-pong tournament with a hotel receptionist back in Ohio).

" _Voulez vous coucher avec moi ce soir (ce soir)_

_Voulez vous coucher avec moi (C'Mon! uh) "_

The girl eyeing her from across the room, however, did not appear to be challenging her. She just simply stared. Brittany did not know how to inwardly feel and outwardly react. Should she be happy that someone was apparently hitting on her? Is this what people dub the so-called "eye-sex"? Gasp! Was she no longer a visual virgin? Noooooooo! Now she would have to visit the optometrist, and the last time she did they almost blinded her with those evil flashlight thingies.

_I was saving myself for the Disney-styled, portable orchestra-backed, frame-by-frame, romantic first meeting I would have with my life's one true love, _Brittany despaired. _I will never be able to eye-ravish them now without feeling like I cheated._

" _Sphene "_

"_Oh Leaaaaaaaa-aaaa-aaaa-aaaa Oh! "_

The girl with highlights furrowed her brow in perplexity as she sensed the discomfort and internal turmoil that the blonde from across the room was going through. She deliberated the potential cause, and after popping some thinking gum into her mouth, she finally arrived at the only possible logical explanation:

_She's_ _claustrophobic, _she thought lamentably, shaking her head. _Being squished between all those sweaty _bodies_… Who _wouldn't _feel freaked out?_

These sympathetic thoughts ran through her head as she absent-mindedly fondled the muscles of a guy that was too distracted with the performance to notice the sexual harassment being inflicted upon him.

" _Sparkz "_

" _Ladyyyyyy Marmalaaaaaade! "_

She considerately desisted her disturbing staring and returned her line of vision to the stage. Maybe less eyes on the blonde would help her calm down.

Brittany side-eyed the girl with the highlights, now chewing gum. She was no longer looking at her with the obviously unbridled flames of passionately carnal desire and lust reflecting in her hazy, mocha eyes.

She was actually hardly paying attention to her at all now.

The young blonde sighed in relief. Sometimes, she was too hot for her own good. Ah, the loaded luggage that beauty carries. But, alas, she must learn to accept herself for who she is.

" _Kiki "_

" _Hey! Hey! Uh uh uh uh uh uh UH! "_

Brittany returned her attention to the stage, noticing that at some point during the song, dry ice had been released from the edges of the stage and was collecting by the platform's floor, imparting the dancing performers with a tantalizingly exotic ambience as they moved and enveloped themselves in the teasingly concealing smoke.

" _Sapphire "_

" _Oh, oh, oh, oh oh ooooooooh… baby… "_

Brittany gently smiled and found herself once again drawn to the caramel-skinned enchantress, whose effervescent Amber gems easily surveyed the frantically adulating masses beneath her nimble, high-heeled feet. The blonde could understand why these girls were such a hit. They were wonderful dancers, spectacular singers, incredible performers, and agonizingly, you-might-kill-yourself-over-them gorgeous heartthrobs.

The crowd sang, _" Katharsis! "_

" _Trixy! "_ all four singers harmonized, pointing at their lead.

" _Misdemeanor here… " _Trixy sang with attitude, encroaching on the crowd.

" _Creole Lady Marmalaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaade …. Yeeees-AH! "_

They finished the ensemble number with personalized, improvised poses against each other. The crowd cheered and cried out "Encore! Encore!" and "I love youuu!" and "Ah! My heart! So many feels!" and "Geico: fifteen minutes can save you fifteen percent or more on car insurance!"

They immediately threw the advertising scumbag out.

And his bullhorn, too.

The tanned beauty stepped out of the group and to the jutting component of the stage.

"Hey, sexy beasts"—the audience howled and whistled, and Sapphire chuckled at their vivacity—"thank you so much for _coming_ tonight"—she winked suggestively, and the members of the crowd foamed at the mouth—"I hope you enjoyed the performance from all the way _down there_"—the group of girls that stood behind Sapphire smirked and let out light giggles—"So, I know my voice is all kinds of stimulating, but it's time my girls and I step off stage"—the crowd groaned—"and offer _other_ kinds of services"—the crowd went wild—"You guys have to stick around or you'll miss out on all the fun we got _going down_ up here all through the night. You know the drill, just get out there and get your kink on with our exotic cage and private dancers, including yours truly"—she took a curtsy and showed off part of her cleavage; the crowd steamed—"get off on watching live striptease on this very stage"—she tapped the stage with the tip of her high-heeled shoes—"Take part in arousing role-playing games and live out your most_exciting_ fantasies—"

Sphene cut in, "Rooms, performers, props, and scenario script request forms are now available for drop-off and pick-up at the nearest _suggestion _box."

"We have a suggestion box?" the white girl, Kiki, discreetly questioned.

Sparkz shrugged.

"People get creative," Trixy supplied, shrugging as well.

Sapphire flashed the audience a quick smile and then turned to Sphene.

"_Rachel_," she hissed with distaste. "We're supposed to be turning them _on_, not _away_."

"But I emphasized _suggestion_!" Rachel whispered defensively.

"That doesn't make it sexy!" Sapphire reproached, trying to get the concept through Rachel's thick head.

"I don't care what you have to say, Santana, it was information pertinent to our audience," Rachel finished resolutely.

"My Gawd, _Lower. The. Mic_, I don't even know why you need one with that parrot's voice box shoved inside your trachea," Santana cried exasperatedly in a hushed tone. "I have enough disturbingly obsessive fans with my alias, I don't need any more stalkers piling up on me if they know my name!"

"Fine, I apologize, I was careless," she replied in a much lower tone. "But it was your fault for getting me so worked up!"

"Eugh, Rachel, I don't ever want you to direct those words at me again," Santana said with a grimace. "Actually, at _anyone_ ever again. Lord knows you're the subject of enough people's sexual nightmares."

"Umm, guys, just reminding your shapely asses that we're still onstage," Trixy said, discreetly elbowing Santana.

Santana's eyes widened a little, she uttered a quick "Right" to Mercedes, and then turned back to the crowd under the confident and flirtatious guise of Sapphire.

"Sorry to leave you hanging, studs, I'm not usually one for _denial_," coyly apologized Santana with a smirk.

Mercedes rolled her eyes.

"So, picking up where we left off, be sure to ravish clean your plates of our _fine, mouth-watering _cuisine, served by horny, lonely servers in need of some inviting company"—faint wolf whistles were heard from the back—"Sweat and grind to wild, upbeat music generated by our DJ's _talented_ fingers—"

"You'd know it, babe!" Puck hollered from his booth, throwing her a flirtatious salute and wiggling his eyebrows in a suggestive manner.

Brittany was outwardly perturbed.

Santana was inwardly disgusted.

Unfortunately, although she very much wanted to, the Latina could not call Puck out on his inexistent sexual prowess and humiliate him in front of a sex-crazed, rabies-like mouth-foaming audience. It would be bad publicity for the club, she would be fired before she could even finish her insult (yah, they were _that_ long), and she would probably end up living in an abandoned Home Depot-retrieved foreign exports box with excrement drawings and leaves for decoration, frivoling her days away in Zenith's central park as she basked in her own filth.

_What kind of loser ends up like _that_?_ Santana thought humorously.

Brittany suddenly felt curiously insulted.

_I suddenly feel curiously insulted, _Brittany thought, but quickly dismissed the fleeting prick of negative emotions with a shrug.

"I could gush on and on about all the exciting services we have to offer here at Katharsis, but I'm sure you guys all will find it more pleasurable to freely explore this wanton wilderness and make your own naughty discoveries," Santana purred at the deliriously aroused crowd.

"If y'all's sexy booties are inexperienced, we've got plenty of well-versed lady candy ready to show you a good time," Mercedes added with seductive poise.

"And if you're all into the two-for-one package, just be sure to ask for me, Sprinkle Sparkz, because I am one feisty femme that is damn target-point sure to dump a rocking bomb on your world, atomic weapons ain't got nothing on _this thang_!" Sparkz intoned with a deep voice-drop at the end of the statement.

_Ah, Unique,_ Kiki thought with folded arms and a playful upward roll of her eyes. _How am I going to top that?_

Unique winked in a way that said, "You got this, Marley!"

"Hi," Marley softly spoke, demurely cheerful. "I'm the new girl. My name is Kiki"—Santana sighed a judgmental breath, subtly shaking her head—"b-but you guys can call me_tonight_"—Marley quickly side-glanced Santana to seek approval, and she felt relieved when she saw her senior's lips quirk upwards—"Oh, don't look surprised, babies, I've seen the way your eyes roamed _all over _my body like…like airport security wands"—Unique's eyebrows dipped in confusion—"If you think you have the drill to tap this like our nation does natural resources, seek me out in the club, and who knows, you might just find me dripping with oil"—Rachel looked horrified—"And if you're good, I might just let you hike my skirt up like gas prices"—Santana cringed—"but you'll only hit coal if you've been bad"—Mercedes looked pained—"So let me be your sexy… terrorist, 'cause I'm sure to make your night explosive."

Jaws dropped.

Marley flashed an innocuous grin, proud of herself for coming up with such erotic phrases on the spot.

The audience looked confused.

_That was hot_, Brittany thought, biting her thumb.

Santana awkwardly took the microphone from Marley's hand, shook her head to disperse her uncomfortable thoughts, and then faced the audience once again with her feisty guise.

"Well, you know what to do, scoot, stare at some boobs, and catch up with us later, you tools," she said smoothly, confidently smirking and shooting the crowd a provocative look.

The five on stage simultaneously blew their audience a kiss, and the crowd once again swooned like a slinky and bounced back to whistle and cheer all mad-cow disease crazy.

Brittany left before they trampled over her as they began to disperse. She really didn't want to be squished like play dough and be marked with footprints all over her body.

It's not as funny as in the cartoons.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~

Brittany tried to look for the college kids that she had arrived with, but in the tight crowd she could hardly make anything out, and she was being squished like a stress doll—she was half-expecting her eyes and tongue to pop out with every push, and funny fart or dying chipmunk noises to escape from every anatomical cavity in her body as people pressed—grinded! ?—into her while she made her way through in search of a sexual harassment-free safety zone.

She spotted a bar.

That was… perfect. The worst that could happen is that she could get wasted, start a bar fight, get kicked out (with a footprint stamped on her butt and everything), violently puke her intestines and appendix out in the streets of Zenith, and pass out somewhere by a waste water disk, accidentally falling into the sewers and drowning in and decomposing along with accompanying human feces.

She took a moment to weigh the options…

_Appendices are useless anyways, _she figured, shrugging.

She skipped over to the bar.

She sat on one of the dark green, cushiony stool, and was immediately content to feel that it was one of those spinning stools. The bar table was incredibly long, smooth, and elegant-looking. Brittany thought she counted about 20 to 25 other stools besides hers. There were about ten other individuals drinking and chattering and moping away all throughout the table, most of them alone, or on the phone, or attempting to make conversation with the person next to them (that is, if they had one, as they were immensely dispersed).

Brittany sat the end of the row, near the curvature of the table. She was deliberating going over to sit with one of the people at the bar, since they looked so lonely, but then one of the scantily dressed girls in the bar draped herself over one of the guys and he did not look as lonely anymore.

Brittany noticed a mixing set right by where she sat. There were some fancy alcoholic bottles by where she sat and she positively brightened up when she saw that there were varieties of different colors. She grabbed one of the longest glasses she could find, and briefly noted it almost looked like a graduated cylinder, but with more of a cone-shaped opening. It was just… really skinny. Anyhow, she did not dwell on that for too long.

She grabbed a ruby-colored drink and poured it into the glass. She then looked through the remaining bottles for the most attractive color.

_Not that all of you aren't attractive, _Brittany immediately thought to herself as she addressed all the bottles with her panning gaze. She knew they had telepathic abilities, so they would understand her. _But I can't live in polygamy._

She glanced around the vast lounge room, and ultimately chose blue—the color of the mood.

She carefully poured it right on top of the ruby-colored liquid and inwardly squealed when the blue settled on top of the previous color.

She glanced around for the next addition to her colorful tower. There was one drink that appeared to be the color of oatmeal, but without the lumpiness. Brittany decided against it; it reminded her of kindergarten when she ate too many potato chips everyday and one day her stomach protested and slung everything out her throat without telling her, like workers on strike. Brittany resented her stomach after that; it could have at least given her a warning. Since then, she tried to respect her stomach and eat healthier.

_Pass,_ the blonde thought to herself, and moved the drink to the back of the line-up she'd arranged.

That must have hurt its feelings. But it had to be done.

Next was a pale, creamy green color. Brittany grimaced slightly. She hated being judgmental, but she really didn't want something that resembled an expired Nickelodeon slime batch as part of her layered tower. It was still a very nice color! It was just not the one right for this ensemble.

"Sorry, buddy, I'm going to have to let you go," Brittany regrettably informed. "But you can go find yourself a pretty, light red drink and you two can mingle and make cute, little brown babies!"

"That doesn't sound racist at all," a voice piped up from behind the bar table.

Brittany's head snapped up. The sudden presence of another human being had startled her.

_How long has he been standing there for? _Brittany thought apprehensively. _Great, now he thinks I'm a meanie like Simon Cowell. I'm not even Australian…_

"Hey," he greeted with a genuinely friendly smile.

"Hallow," Brittany muttered out.

"Are you Brittish?" he asked, eyebrows raised.

_How does he know my name! ? Wait, no… how does he know an obviously mispronounced version of my name! ?_

"Brittany," Brittany corrected in a hushed voice. She did not like correcting people that much. It felt like she was reprimanding them or nagging at them even if they were evidently in the wrong. She wasn't very good at arguing.

"Aaaaah, so you're from Britain?" the guy repeated, nodding his head in acknowledgement.

"NO!" Brittany said loudly before she could even stop herself.

The bartender's eyes widened and she immediately slapped a hand to her mouth, slowly lowering it to say something else.

"I-I'm sawrry, it's just… you misunderstood… and I fhought you weah… and I din't mean… I beg yuh pahdon from the bottom of my teacup!" Brittany apologized.

The young man laughed heartily. "No, no, that's alright. I meant it as in, are you English?"

"I speak it," Brittany said, shrugging.

"Me too!" the other guy said excitedly. "We have tons in common!"

"That's wicked"—Brittany halted mid-sentence in thought—"mate!"

"So, wha'cha doing?" the blond guy asked, nodding toward the glass Brittany was holding. "Trying to blow up this place? You had all that kame hame ha aura going on before I butt in."

Brittany looked alarmed. "Wot? No! I-I'm nat heah to blow up thah place, I'm no terrorist, I sweah!" The young blonde discreetly leaned in to the friendly guy and cautiously whispered, "But I phink that garl that wus on stage earliah might be."

The blond guy's eyes stretched out comically. Instantly, his gaze darkened.

"I _knew_ she had infiltrated our establishment! She was too sketchy an individual for me to just let it go. She was nice. _Too nice_"—Brittany listened attentively, nodding her head to encourage him to continue—"One time, I forgot to flush the toilet after I left the bathroom, so I went back in, but my business was already gone. When I walked out of the restroom, I noticed her sitting close by, and when her eyes shifted, she smiled and waved at me. It was then that I knew. I just KNEW that it had to be her. She was the only one that could have possibly done it in that small scope of time, and all the evidence was against her: she was near, she pretended to be occupied, and she_conveniently_ met my eyes as soon as I left! It was a good thing recognized the signs… Who would go through all the trouble of going to the boy's room and flushing my toilet if they didn't want to get on my good side? Why would they _want _to get on my good side? Do I _have_ a good side?—"

"Left profile," Brittany interjected.

"Thanks, I think so too, most of my Bieber hair is on the left, so I look bald in the right. Nice eye."

Brittany shrugged coolly. "No prob."

"Anyhow, it was not only that, but she's always super quiet, and hanging out with our boss, and laughing at all our jokes, and following us everywhere, and making us sweet snacks, and looking innocent and doe-eyed and _why doesn't anyone else notice her suspicious behavior? _I tell you, she's probably a spy sent from Caesura to come and ruin us from the inside out. No one believes me, though…"

"Seizure?"

The boy laughed good-naturedly. "I thought it was _insurance_ when I first heard it."

Brittany shrugged.

"Oh, sorry, you're not from here, you probably don't know who they are," the blond said with an apologetic smile. "They're our competition. They're relatively new. They've only been open for 6 months now, but they've managed to snatch over a quarter of our following."

"That's not nice," Brittany opinioned with a frown. "They shouldn't take your quarters."

The blond raised his eyebrows.

"Err… My wahrd, wot pricks!" Brittany immediately amended.

He still looked a bit thrown off, but continued nonetheless.

"We've existed for about 50 years, remodeled in the past 15 years, opened for business in the past 10 years, but have just recently become popular in the past 6 years," the bartended explained, grabbing one of the bottles Brittany pushed to the back of her line-up and cleaning it over with a cloth. "The staff is usually switched around every year. Age is a very important factor here. If you get too old for your job, you're out. Unless you're a cougar."

Brittany's eyes sparkled. "You have animals heah?"

The blond guy stopped wiping the bottle and considered the question. "You could say that, they _are_ pretty wild." He shuddered uncomfortably.

"I might check them out latah then!" Brittany gushed with an excited smile.

"… Sure, if you're into that," the bartender said with an adorably confused expression, putting the bottle in its rightful slot in the cabinet. His gaze once again darkened when he returned to Brittany.

Brittany noticed the shift in mood so she also tried to darken her expression. She tried positioning her gold bangs over her eyes to make herself look shadier.

"But we've deviated from the subject," the guy began, palms on the bar table and making direct eye contact with the blonde. "Despite all the clear as cereal signs that_something's _about to boil over, no one listens to me! They think that they're the rabid paranoid rantings of a good-looking but mentally disturbed bartender with nothing else to do but spread conspiracy theories. But I know better that's not true—except for the good-looking part. If I have to be the naked guy standing at a busy intersection holding a cardboard sign that reads, "SHE'S OUT TO GET US… AND OUR MOTHERS!" then I'll gladly do it! It's always the people that stand out from the masses that get far in life!"

"Weah you the unwonted leftover at dodgeball, too?" Brittany chirped.

The bartender smiled in the spirit of camaraderie. "Yea! But I always proved myself by winning every time!"

"I ohlways came out on top, too!" Brittany raved animatedly.

Neither of them realized nobody ever actually aimed at them. Neither of them ever would.

"Bah you know," Brittany started, once again adopting her sketchy persona. "She as good us admitted it today onstage. She said, and I quote, 'So let me be your sexy… terrorist, 'cause I'm sure to make your night explosive'! At the time I fhought it was pretty hot… b-but now…"

The blond guy's eyebrows peaked. "What? What is it?"

Brittany sighed and looked away dramatically. "I phink… she might be planning an attack tonight."

The dude was taken aback, almost slamming into his meticulously arranged cabinet. Phew.

"Please," he pleaded, taking Brittany's hand. "Tell me you recorded the evidence."

Brittany squeezed her eyes shut painfully, removed her hand, and slowly shook her head.

"Dammit all to demolished diarrhea!"

"Bloody hobknocking bollocks!"

"Whoa, there, calm down," the guy said, laughing.

"Sawrry," Brittany muttered, embarrassed. "Is the situation that bad?"

"Well, we have no proof to warn the others, and they're all such tight-butts, they won't believe me even if I have a witness," he sighed, placing a fist on his forehead.

"It's worse than I fhought," Brittany communicated uneasily. "What should we do?"

"What all the greats throughout history have done when in the face of adversity," he explained with a grave expression. "We get shots."

Brittany's eyes bulged out. _B-but I don't wanna get shot! I have so much to live for… like… like…_

"Just make it quick, please," Brittany whispered miserably, closing her eyes in resignation.

The bartended nodded.

Ah, well, she'd had a good run. She'd had fun throughout the scant years of her existence. She did all the major things she'd wanted to accomplish in her youth: placing a whoopee cushion under her Spanish teacher's chair just to hear her say 'Ay, Caramba!' after thinking she accidentally dealt one; locking two Latin students in the janitor's closet with a romantic candlelight dinner in order to incite them to breed so she can take their babies and start up a new Latin-speaking colony somewhere in the outskirts of Alaska, so that the Latin students wouldn't feel left out when all the other language students went to visit other countries where the language was actually still alive (of course, she never got to achieve her goal, as the students reported her and she got in-school detention for a week. Sigh. No one gets it. No one gets it…); she painted one of the last telephone booths in her district blue like Doctor Who's after sneaking out through her window, and accidentally slide-falling off the sub-roof before smacking with a loud "crack!" into the cemented sidewalk, so that she could go back in time to salvage her kiwano-flavored cookies from getting burnt, setting off the fire alarm in her house, and almost inundating the house with water from the sprinklers, but although she didn't manage to travel into the past, she managed to travel into the future, for when she woke up, it was tomorrow morning.

Yes, she had no regrets.

She was at peace with herself.

_Who am I kidding? Let's bolt! _Brittany thought to herself in a panic as she scrambled off her stool and got ready to take off like Speedy Gonzales.

"So, strawberry or pineapple?"

She froze. _Bullets have flavors?_

"Pineapple," she relented, closing her eyes and moving back onto her stool. She couldn't get away now. She would get shot from behind and she really didn't want the murder investigators to come and find her in an awkward position. She had dignity and the like, you know?

"Strong or light?"

"Whichevah gets the job done fastah," she replied shakily, with her eyes still closed and her head hung low.

"Large or small?"

_They come in sizes, too?_

"SMALL. Small, please," she hushed out nervously. At the least this way she could avoid facial disfiguration. She wanted an open-casket funeral, and she really didn't want a gaping hole in her body. It was largely unattractive, even for a corpse, and she wanted the attendees to be thinking, as they looked at her, "Dayum, I should have tapped that while it was still twitching!"

"Alright, you ready?" the bartender's voice piped up, sounding closer to her than it was before. "Get a load of this."

Brittany almost fainted.

"Say hello to my little friend"—Brittany gulped and squeezed her eyes even tighter. This was it—"Sam's Super Special Small-Glass, Lightly-Spiked, Extra-Foamy Piña Colada L'Extravaganza! ! !"

Brittany stiffened, but then her body relaxed in confusion. She opened her eyes.

"So, have I blown you away yet?" he asked, sliding the drink over to her firmly rigid fist.

"Not in the way I'd expected," Brittany voiced with a trembling pitch, still feeling the residual effects of her fearfully panicked state.

Brittany inwardly chuckled. What a misunderstanding. These kind of things always happened to her. Just like there's an award for 'perfect school attendance,' she should herself get an award for 'perfect record of nailing every potentially misinterpretable situation ever presented to her. Like a boss.'

"Phank you so much, um…" Brittany grinned shyly at him.

"Oh. OH! That's right, I just completely chatted up a stranger without introducing myself!" The bartended said in embarrassed realization. "Sorry. How do you do? Sam. i. am. and you're?"

"Brittany, bitch," the young blonde finished, taking a sip from her drink.

The two smiled at each other knowingly. It was there, in a skimpy strip club, amongst the stench of sweaty, horny bodies, in the depressing presence of inebriated and weeping individuals down the row of stools, surrounded by erotic music pumping from the building's speakers, staring at each other in the eye-dilating dim lighting of the bar, that they both knew… they just KNEW… the seeds to the tulips of a beautiful friendship were being tenderly planted in the soils of amity, waiting for the right moment to spring forth into a majestic blossom of—

"I need to pee," Brittany deadpanned. "I-I mean, I've got to tinkle. Where's your nearest watah closet?"

"… the watah-what?"

Brittany racked her brain for another word. "Can you show me to yuh loo?"

Sam tentatively pointed to his crotch.

Brittany choked on her imaginary tea.

"Th-that's quite alright," Brittany sputtered out, still playing up the British accent and looking away. "I-I phink I'll go look for it myself."

She flashed one last smile at Sam and walked off.

_Oh, wait…_

She turned back around and yelled, "Cheerio!"

"Froot loops!"

Sam smiled dorkily and returned to his post. He looked at the mess of drinks that Brittany had left behind during her mixing experimentations.

_She'll come back and pay for all this ... right?_

X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X

Rachel hurriedly stepped off stage and began to swiftly make her way to the dressing room area at the back of the building, still riding on the rush of adrenaline that performing in front of adulating crowds always gave her. Her legs quivered in excitement, her smile stretched to cover a peculiarly large area of her face, and her unblinking eyes shone with enthusiasm. She couldn't wait to get back out there. Another performance wouldn't start until the next two hours, so she would have to busy herself with other things, but in the meanwhile, she might as well take the opportunity to further enhance her beauty with the commoner's tools for facial art—make-up.

She finally arrived at her dressing room and, after gingerly checking her immediate vicinity, carefully closed the door and pompously strode over to her vanity, flinging a provocative look at herself as soon as she made contact with her mirror twin.

She struck a few suggestive poses in front of the reflective glass, puckering her lips up and shooting flirty winks.

She once again leaned over the vanity and stared at herself right in the eyes, smiling wickedly.

"Rachel, you sinfully sexy vixen, you looked so hot out there!"

"Said No One Ever."

Rachel jumped, smacking her forehead into the mirror, and instantly turned around with a wide-eyed expression

"S-SANTANA!" she yelped, trying her hardest to sound reprimanding but coming off as more humiliated. "H-HOW LONG HAVE YOU BEEN THERE?"

"Long enough to see what you would look like if you were a blowfish," Santana chuckled out, puckering her lips at the brunette mockingly.

Rachel's lips thinned. "Are you calling me fat?"

Santana shook her head nonchalantly. "No, Berry, that's just your lips. There's something cringe-worthy about every part of your body but I try not to focus on them and instead stare at the spots which I find the least revolting, like your schnoz, which practically takes up over half your face so I hardly even realize it's a nose, making looking at you more bearable."

Rachel stomped her high-heeled shoe on the ground. "What is your _problem_ with me, Santana? Why do you insist on tearing me down every time you so much as look at me? I don't remember ever doing anything of ill will against you! I mean, by Barbra, I hardly ever get a _word_ in with you since you're always insulting every particle of my being!"

"Hardly get a word in? _Hardly_? Berry, every time you open your trap it's like you're delivering the State of the Union address, don't you know the torture your constant yapping puts our ears through?" Santana countered aggressively.

"What? I do not!" Rachel vehemently denied, her mouth gaping in astonishment. "I mean, I suppose I could be a bit verbose when it comes to expressing—"

"A bit?" Santana muttered incredulously, rolling her eyes.

"See! See what you do!" Rachel accused, jumping up and down in a tantrum. "You _always_ interject! You never let me finish!"

"And that is bad because…?" Santana motioned her head upwards, signaling for the short diva to continue.

"Because I might have something quite meaningful to communicate! Has that ever crossed your mind?" Rachel finished confidently.

"Meaningful? Ah, alright, m'kay. Imma let you finish, then, what _exactly_ were you going to say to me that was so meaningful?" Santana prompted with a daring raise of her eyebrow.

"I was going to say…"

"Mhmm…"

"That…"

"Mhmm…"

"Your nails are cheap!"

"WHAT! ? My nails are not chipped. I just bought them yesterday!"

"AHA! So they're _fake_! Fakeee! Fakeee! Just like your breaaaasts!"

"SHUT UP, Berry! I'm about to go apeshit on your trolling ass!"

Rachel stuck out her tongue.

Santana reddened with fury.

"Whoa, whoa, hold on, what's going down up in here?" Mercedes questioned, bursting through the door. "I wanna watch!"

Santana folded her arms and incredulously quirked her eyebrow in a "_Really?" _kind of gesture.

"What's wrong? I heard yelling. I wanna watch!" Puck followed just as hastily, looking back and forth between the girls.

Rachel shrieked.

"Noah! What are you doing in my dressing room?" she demanded, concealing herself by reflex even though she wasn't exposed.

"I'll get the whacking broom," muttered Santana with a blasé attitude, walking off to a corner of the room in search of the item.

"Is everyone alright? I think I heard the sound of a dying hyena," Unique uttered worriedly as he stepped into the room.

"Nah, it was just Rachel," Mercedes replied casually.

"Oh, thank goodness," breathed Marley, trailing after Unique. She brought the phone she was holding in her hand up to her chin and reassured, "It's alright now, no need for Animal Control Services," promptly hanging up on 911.

"Babe, I know you come in here to have sexy time, so _of course_ I would install listening devices in your room!" Puck explained, wiggling his eyebrows in what he thought was a rapturously irresistible manner. "I've always waited for the right moment to walk in on you doing the deed."

"NOAH!" she berated in a high-pitched voice, flushed to her ears. "I-I do admit that I come here to allot myself….a…a brief self-pepping period, but most certainly not in the way you imply!"

"You called yourself a _sexy vixen_," Santana commented, leaning against the wall. "Most of the time I try to refrain myself from imagining exactly how the cogs in your bizarre brain turn, God knows the last thing I want is to start seeing things _your_ way, but I think in your world that's, like, foreplay or something."

"For the last time, everyone, there was _nothing_ of that nature occurring in this room!" Rachel insisted, raging like an oompa loompa .

"Oh, yeah, sure, we get it," Santana said, reaching into her cleavage and pulling out a tiny beetle-looking things from her tits. "Now would you repeat to the mic?"

"How do you—? Why do you—?" Rachel sputtered, stupefied. "NOAH!"

"Heeeey, you found my INSpECT Bugger XXX! I was wondering what happened to it!" Puck remarked heartily. "That shit cost me a month's rent. But to see the boobs you gotta equip the goods."

"Yeah, well, be thankful I didn't feel like getting cockroach bodily slime on my heels, I almost squashed that creeper," Santana deadpanned. "You too, Berry, I debugged your dressing room. You should, like, worship me or something akin to that from now on."

"NOAH, I DEMAND THAT YOU REMOVE ALL OFFENDING MONITORING MATERIAL FROM MY DRESSING ROOM AT THIS INSTANT!" Rachel screeched.

"Guys, why are we all fighting like this! ?" Marley questioned, stepping into the room, shyly glancing around. "Can't we…. Can't we all just get along?"

Everyone stared at her as if she was wearing a tutu toga.

And stilettos.

"Gurl, it's downright _scary _obvious what a newbie you are," Unique piped up, throwing his head in a rotational motion and snapping his fingers to emphasize his point. "Here, let me take you to the hallway, where I'll enlighten you in the selfish and corruptive ways of this trade. C'mon."

The two girls(?) walked out together and their voices faded as they distanced themselves from the room

"Fine, fine, I'll start taking them down," Puck relented, raising his well-toned arms in surrender.

"And don't do that anymore, please," Rachel firmly requested, arms folded.

"Listen, y'all got issues, and frankly, I don't wanna be getting involved in all your trifling hooey, nohow," Mercedes expression, arms akimbo. "But we're the seniors member in this hoe joint!"—she halted for a moment, pensive—"Hmm, never thought I would ever say that without cringing. I became a shameless floozy sooner than I'd anticipated. Huh."

Puck motioned his head in a circular motion, urging her to keep going and get it over with.

"My point is: we all gotta pull together and—!"

"Ugh, don't even, you're starting to sound like that white chick with the tutu toga," whined Santana, disgruntled.

"Satan, if you'd _just _let me finish what I was sa—"

"See! See what I mean! Even Mercedes can tell you're _always_ interrupting everyone mid-sentence!"

Santana raised her eyebrow.

"Ehem," Mercedes cleared her throat.

"What?" Rachel inquired, turning to her. "Oh... OH. Right. I apologize. Continue!"

Santana slickly shot the sheepish brunette a falsely saccharine grin.

Rachel internally seethed.

Puck picked at his nose real quick while no one was watching.

"So, as I was saying, we have got to be the their mentors! Not just us, but everyone that has had some significant experience in this business. They're young, unsure… they ain't got a clue what they're doing, how to play it safe," Mercedes resumed, making eye contact with each of them, as if that would more vigorously hammer her point home. "We all know what this world is like; we can't guarantee them anything. The best we can do is train them to understand the do's and don't's of this kind of activity, so they can confront whatever comes their way."

"Whoa," Puck voiced. "Deep. And not in a sexual way, this time."

"Mercedes, that was… an endearingly beautiful, eloquently delivered impromptu monologue," Rachel praised, inexplicably moved. "I have to say that I concur with your every claim, reason, and conviction. I hope we may all come into a cohesive union and aid our current and future juniors in exercising caution and preventive measures when engaging in any type of… work-related obligation."

"Mm-huh, okay, twitter update!" Santana announced with faux-enthusiasm. " WheezyinthePants: _none_ of us have a clue what we're doing here, how do you expect us to guide anyone if we can't even look after ourselves? #howulikethatphilosophy."

A peeved Mercedes sighed, shaking her head in defeat.

"Y'all be hopeless," the exasperated girl uttered, heading for the door. "Imma just diva exit now, 'cause some of us got work to do. I best see your well-dressed hineys out there before I start belting out some private tunes for the guests."

Mercedes left before anyone had time to respond.

"What's got _her_ thong up in a knot?" Santana commented offhandedly, wrinkling her brow in mock unease. "Well, whatever, while we're on the subject, I gotta talk to you about tonight's performance, Berry."

"How is a flimsy undergarment meant for the concealment of female private parts at all relevant to tonight's performance?" Rachel questioned, perplexed at Santana's obviously desultory statement.

"It isn't," Santana plainly replied, shrugging. "I just needed a transitioning phrase to get past this boring subject and discuss things that are worth my time. The original reason I even deigned to step into your room was so that I could tell you to stop advertising during the post-show chats. It completely kills the mood and it's a total turn-off."

"In the sexual _and _business sense," Puck added, nodding sagely.

"But that is the moment at which we have the entire public's attention! It must be then!" Rachel argued with wild hand gestures.

"Yeah, and potentially the moment where we lose our entire following, and with Caesura being the cowardly ostridge pecking away at our roots in this city, we can't afford to lose any more lowly swine."

"Precious customers," coughed out Puck.

"Them, too," Santana added.

"Santana, you don't think I'm trying to counter their insidious ways? I'm just as unwilling to allow them to slip the rug from beneath our feet. However, I do believe we do not have to be _that_ concerned, as Katharsis has had a protracted run in this city, despite its occasional—well, sporadic—run-ins with the law."

"I dunno, babe," Puck interjected, leaning back against the wall. "I've checked the place out and they seem like pretty tough competition."

"You went behind our backs! ?" Rachel shouted, indignant.

"Well, I couldn't go behind your fronts!" Puck defended. "That's, like, a grammatical impossibility or something geeky like that!"

"Forget mechanics, just spit it out, what did you see?" Santana prodded, drawing closer to him.

"It wasn't really much, honest," Puck divulged, shrugging, his muscles flexing as he did. "I think its biggest appeal is that it's new, it's an underground club, and it's got a casino."

"Underground? No wonder I never could find the place," Santana muttered to herself. "Ugh, now I gotta buy a new GPS…"

"I told you it was senseless smashing," Rachel chided, wagging her finger at the Latina.

Puck pretended to look into his iPhone and type something. " InSpiteofHeight MexicanOrDominicanQuestionMark R.I.P Satan's GPS #RoadRage."

"Why, the nerve!" Rachel spat, insulted. "I don't even HAVE a twitter!"

"Sure, you don't, bubblemufffin28," Santana drawled out slyly.

Rachel gasped in shock. "How did you—! ?"

"Log out of your account before you start screeching something somewhat akin to music while you shower," Santana replied casually. "Those mirrors can only stand so much."

"Ha ha ha ha, bubblemuffin28?" Puck cracked up. "Oh, Gawd, this is too much. I thought you'd come up with something relating to 'star,' but muffins? Wooow."

At this precise moment of amusement for the PuckTana party, and humiliation for the Rachel party, Kurt stuck his comely head into the room.

"Hey, Santana, you got a client asking for you," he informed her.

The jovial ambience immediately plummeted, as the laughter (and seething, in Rachel's part) died down. The Hispanic beauty gracefully rose to her high-heeled feet from the velvet dressing chair, smoothing out the unsightly wrinkles her apparel had collected during her stay in the Jewish diva's room.

"Time to serve the patrons, huh?" Puck commented lamely, his voice uncharacteristically feeble.

"It's how you stay alive," flippantly responded Santana, spraying herself with a delicate amount of Rachel's perfume.

Rachel opted not to territorially call out the Latina on the impertinent use of _her_ perfume without permission. She instead cleared her throat and strutted towards her dresser, standing alongside Santana. "Well, it's about time I stepped out and graced the customers with my presence, anyway."

"I would find a scathing retort to your statement, Berry," Santana said, finding it in herself to smirk. "But I actually _have_ someone waiting on me so I don't have the time to."

As they gazed into each other's eyes through the mirror, they seemed to reach a mutual understanding, a type of acknowledgement, though of what, either was unsure.

Puck headed for Rachel's couch as he said, "Well, I got to go, too. My harem awaits at the DJ booth."

He pulled out a minuscule, ebony apparatus from one of the golden-colored string knots hanging from the Chinese couch pillows.

"MY PILLOW, TOO, NOAH?"

Kurt and Santana laughed. Puck wiggled his eyebrows.

"SERIOUSLY! ?"

~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~

Hmm. Now… how exactly did life's random sequence of events lead her here?

Brittany found herself sitting on a plush velvet cushiony seat in an enclosed but comfortably large room, taking in her surroundings with her exploring vision as she reservedly remained seated at the spot a bunny girl had pointed her to after she had inquired as to the whereabouts of the restroom in the establishment.

She knew that bathrooms had toilets, and this room did not have a toilet; therefore, it was not a bathroom.

What was it then?

She vaguely recalls a layout similar to the one she currently finds herself in during a hangout scene in one of the anime shows she used to watch as a kid. If she wasn't mistaken, dancing zebras, drumming beavers, Exorcist head-turning owls, and singing parrots should soon be making their entrance into the room to rock out a karaoke session with her. But Brittany wasn't a kid anymore, so she knew that those things didn't happen.

Not until the clock struck midnight and the crescent moon shone directly above said establishment.

There also had to be a microphone, because what would be the point of all the trouble if no one would get to sing?

No, scratch that, you _could_ sing, but what would be the point in singing if no one could hear you?

Wait, no, backspace, you _could_ sing, and people _might not_ hear you, but it was a relatively small room so maybe your voice could echo off the walls and in the end they_would _hear you, but then what would be the point in a microphone if people could hear you anyway?

_Why is this so complicated_? The befuddled blonde wondered, furrowing her brow in grave consternation.

The abrupt sound of a creaking door derailed her train of thought as it crossed a folding bridge, had it tip on the brink of drain-or-retain, and ultimately had it crushed by the mechanic curling of the bridge, completely annihilating the, frankly, pathetically useless deliberation.

Brittany opened her tightly closed eyes (previously so adjusted to enhance concentration), and raised her line of vision to come into the awareness that the individual striding into the fancy room was none other than the milk coffee-skinned girl who won her admiration with her epic pole-dancing skills, who kept her from fulfilling her self-imposed promise that she would treat all God's creatures equally (she wasn't even that religious) and watch the other performing girls only to have her attention hogged by the girl's heed-hoarding moves, and most importantly, the girl who caused her to lose a penny to a sneaky audience swindler due to her unjustly distracting on-stage presence (she would have otherwise _so _felt that hand slide into her pocket). As if she wasn't poor enough!

Either way, she couldn't allow her misfortunes to spoil her mood, especially in front of this pretty girl, with the moves, and the hair flip, and the sultry voice—

"Hi!" she hastily greeted before she once again become enveloped in her world. "I'm Brittany." She stood from the cushiony seat and walked towards the latte-skinned girl.

The girl's eyes imperceptibly widened in surprise, a bit startled at the other occupant's chirpy voice. She rolled her eyes downward to see the other occupant's hand stuck out, awaiting to connect with her own in an amicable, first-meeting handshake.

"Hey," she breathed in return, almost unsurely. She immediately caught the feeble low of her tone and just as quickly returned to a more self-assured volume. "I would tell you mine, but since you called me here, I suppose you're already familiar with it… with me."

She confidently sent a smirk Brittany's way.

Brittany nodded enthusiastically. She was slightly confused as to what the girl meant by "calling her here," but just decided not to over think it (she was prone to doing that).

"Yeah, you're Sapphire!" Brittany said with an energetic smile. "You're the pretty girl that performed with the other pretty dancers a while ago. It was totally awesome, by the way. I was blown out of my seat! Well, I wasn't really sitting, though. I was standing with the rest of the crowd because then I wouldn't have been able to see anything over people's heads. So maybe the expression is… you blew me off my feet? But my feet are still here… and it's pretty hard to reconnect with your feet because you'd need to undergo surgical procedures and…"

Sapphire momentarily stared at Brittany with a blank expression.

It had been a while since she was presented with a female client. Yes, the women liked to talk, but this one excessively so. Was she nervous or something?

She stopped following the logic behind the blonde's string of sentences and instead looked at the document filed into the folder she had picked up from the back of the private room's door before coming in. This was a work proceeding. The client would rent a room, be given a sheet to fill out where he/she would jot down all of his/her preferences for the private courtesy, along with the names of the service girl(s) of his/her fancy and the quantity of people that would accompany him/her, enter the room at the appointed time, and wait for the service girl(s) to show up for the private performance.

At that point, the business would meet its part of the transaction by informing the girls of their respective clients, and they would go see about them at the agreed time. This is where Sapphire came in. Not Santana. She had chosen long ago to remain detached from her working persona. Santana would stand outside the room, slide out the form that the client inside had earlier filled out, and read through what they wanted her to do, to see if she needed to bring any… supplementary materials.

She groaned as she read over the 'Adams' file. Was this Brittany Adams? Santana found it almost strange that the girl gave away her name in person while she refrained from giving it on file. Before she could think the action any more vacuous, however, she reasoned that in a way it made sense. The workers were required to maintain customer confidentiality, so even if Brittany revealed her first name, and only her last name on file, if authorities ever came looking for her (yes, most of the establishment's frequenters were sketchy individuals in the first place), then the service girl could not reveal the client's name. The only available record would be on file, and that would only contain a last name

These patrons, despite the disturbing haze of lust that constantly clouded their thinking, were quite the clever individuals when it came to matters that could precipitate their potential arrest.

The police looked for _all_ traces left behind by criminals, particularly the mafia. Even at this dissolute joint. They usually came here to talk plans, so it could not be overlooked.

This girl, though… could she be one of them? Or was she merely the regular lecherously depraved degenerate that needed to get her day's fill, but was just too bored of getting involved with herself?

"… And it was sooooo bad! I could never tell the cabbage and the lettuce apart! Or the zucchini and cucumber! My mom never sent me to do the grocery shopping because of those! And it really hurt my feelings…"

Santana's eye twitched.

_Yeah, definitely not._

How did they—well, _she_—even arrive at the subject of vegetables? Wasn't she talking about surgically reconnecting feet or something? Wow, Santana had been gone for a while. Or was it the other way around?

Santana shook her head to dissolve any more sidetracking thoughts and once again directed her attention to the Adams file.

_Hmm_, Santana mentally voiced with intrigue. _Despite this girl's outward appearance, she has quite the kinks._

She discreetly glanced at the digital clock situated at the most uninteresting top corner of the room and realized that she had about half an hour to finish the list of activities Brittany had outlined before her appointment.

The private session was supposed to last an hour.

_Have we really been talking that much?_ Santana contemplated in astonishment. _Well, has _she_ really been talking that much?_

If Brittany was not going to take the initiative, which in these scenarios usually involved dirty talking (not grocery talking), then it would have to be Santana. She was used to it, taking control, and so what had to happen next really just came naturally to her.

She left Brittany chatting with herself for a moment, before she could even notice her gone, and slipped a CD into the stereo system at the left of the room. The file said that the client wished for her to dance to tribal music.

_That was kind of… wild? _Santana internally remarked, as she pressed the start button.

The song began booming out of the speakers and enveloped the room in a feral ambience, drowning out Brittany's words and effectively shutting her up. Mainly because the blonde was temporarily startled silent by the sudden blast of the savage tune.

Brittany tapped her feet on the floor and snapped her fingers, enjoying the tameless beats.

She stared at Santana vibrantly, and Santana regarded her with a disapproving look.

_Okay, so, does she not understand that she's supposed to sit her ass down and watch me dance for her? _A splenetic Santana impatiently questioned.

The rules were that the clients were not supposed to touch the service girls during private sessions, just watch, or maybe clap if the urge to move was overwhelming. But no fondling, ass slapping, and definitely NO masturbating. There had to be boundaries.

_Well, it should be fine if _I _touch _her_, right? _Santana reasoned, going over the rules in her mind.

She really needed to get that golden-haired bimbo in a seat; otherwise she won't have the space to do her job.

Santana strode forward irritably and roughly pushed the blonde onto a seat. She was confident that she would land safely, because the entire room was bordered with connected cushiony seats. This is in case the client wants to bring along friends.

_From what I've read on her file, she's probably digging this, _Santana thought dismissively, justifying the brusque treatment.

She hadn't counted on Brittany losing her balance and dragging her down with her, though.

The blonde's quick reflexes, however, held Santana by the shoulders and prevented their heads from colliding. That would have sucked.

"Owie," Brittany whimpered, having smashed her butt on the seat. Normally, it wouldn't have hurt, the seat being cushioned and all, but the momentum of the force amplified the usually painless contact.

"Ugh, what were you—! ?" Santana quickly stopped herself before she could start lashing out her escalating fury on the girl. The bitch was her client, so she needed to be civil. Either that or smack her and lose her job. And she wasn't worth it, for sure.

She inhaled shakily, trying to calm herself down before proceeding with the session.

"Why did you push me?" Brittany inquired with a pout. "That wasn't very nice…"

"Oh, I don't know, how about you tell me first why you yanked me down with you!" Yup, she couldn't hold the Snix down.

"I'm sorry," Brittany apologized sheepishly. "I just lost my balance, it was total reflex reaching out to the closest thing I could hold on to!"

"How about the wall, Blondie?" Santana replied, her tone rife with snide.

_Civility be dammed_, Santana thought crossly. _I'll just blame it all later on speaking over the loud music._

"I'm not Matrix like that!" countered Brittany, frowning. She tried to think of something else to say, but the pressing of her fingers on tender, squishy skin was distracting her. "Ngh, why is your skin so soft? It makes it really hard to think of something mean to say to you back!"

"Puta, did you just call my skin soft! ? Say that to my face—huh?"

Santana stared at the girl below her, perplexed.

"I _am _saying it to your face!" Brittany defended, quirking her eyebrows. "Your skin is so smooth, and shiny, and… it's not fair! Where do you get your products?"

Santana still stared at Brittany as if she were looking at the slimy guts of a cockroach whose remains inadvertently stuck to her shoe.

"Answer me or I'll"—she tried to think of a threat—"pull your Head & Shoulders commercial-like hair!"

Santana looked more taken aback.

"Ugh, you know the cosmetics department at Macy's?" Santana ventured.

"The one with the lipsticks and stuff?"

"Mm-hmm."

"Yea."

"Well, uh, there's this section of the glass table showing moisturizing creams, and there are some free samples by the corner of the table."

Brittany nodded attentively.

"I just sort of lift and flee," Santana finished, shrugging.

"How do you 'lift' if it's free in the first place?" Brittany queried, confused.

Santana scoffed, rolling her eyes. "Psh, please, as if I would take second-hand crap. And those miniature giveaway samples are a joke. If I'm gonna get something, it better be worth rubbing up on all _this_." She bumped her chest. "Ouch, I hit my boob!"

"Happens to me, too," sympathized Brittany.

"Cream-pilfering?" questioned Santana.

Brittany shook her head.

"Boob-banging," she elaborated.

"Wanky," joked Santana.

The couple quietly laughed, and it was when their hearty motions seemed muted that they realized the music was still playing.

"Can we turn that off?" Brittany asked. "The song's okay, and I like pretty much all music, but I'm kinda tired of this one."

Santana once again looked confused. "But, you asked for it on your request sheet."

Multi-personality disorder much?

"Request sheet?" Brittany detached her hands from Santana's shoulders and slowly lifted herself up on her elbows. The Latina got the hint from the motion and moved to get up as well. "I didn't request anything? But then again, maybe I did, and I just don't remember. It happens to me a lot, actually. There was this one time—"

"Ooookay, Imma have you stop right there," Santana said, effectively halting the other girl. "I don't want you going off on another random tangent."

"Was I supposed to?" Brittany questioned, puzzled.

"Well, you're not obligated to, but it's common practice," Santana replied, shrugging.

"Um, okay then, how about I request something right now?" Brittany suggested, lifting up her palms. "I don't want to break tradition. I wouldn't like having my family cursed for seven generations."

Santana concealed her amused grin. "I don't think we have that sort of penalty here."

"Better to be safe than sorry," gravely replied Brittany.

The Latina smiled at the girl's mock seriousness. Or, wait, was she for real?

"So, a request, huh?" Brittany repeated, fingers grazing her chin. "Hmm, how many do I get?"

"As many as you'd like," Santana responded, grinning devilishly. She quickly glanced at the clock. "Well, as many as you can fit into fifteen minutes, actually."

"What? There's a time limit to my wishes?" Brittany inquired, alarmed.

"'Afraid so," Santana said playfully, shrugging.

Brittany sat down in her dismay, troubled. "I don't know if I'll have time to think of and fulfill all my wishes! Agh, the pressure!"

"Fourteen," casually communicated Santana.

"You're evil," mumbled Brittany, sending Santana a childish glare.

"That's what happens when you make a deal with Satan," Santana replied cockily.

Her heart suddenly thumped in such a way that it echoed throughout her body.

That was the closest she had come to ever revealing her name to a client.

It's not that she actually liked the nickname, but it seemed a fitting retort for the situation.

She could feel imperceptible beads of sweat begin to escape her pores, betraying her cool demeanor.

Brittany's eyes widened. "Don't say that! You're no devil!"

It was Santana's turn to be surprised.

"I mean, I can't assert that," Brittany amended carefully. "I don't know you that well. I mean, by gamut, tonight was the first time I ever even saw you! B-but you don't come off as a bad person! You're really pretty! Not that pretty people aren't always mean on the inside. Not that at first I didn't think you were. But I think differently now! You're really awesome. Inside and out! And I'm probably rambling now. My thoughts are kind of scattered. I can't express myself well verbally but I just want you to know that I really like you and you shouldn't call yourself that!"

"It was…" Santana's voice trailed off as she processed and registered everything that Brittany had said. She felt a soft tug seal a minuscule hollow within her. She quickly cleared her throat, straightened her posture, and returned to Sapphire's persona. "It was just a passing comment. You really didn't need to freak on me. Now be quiet and think of what you want. I don't have all night."

Brittany jumped, a bit stunned, but she rapidly recovered and continued her musings. Twelve minutes left.

_Ah, just forget it, I'll go with whatever comes to mind! _Brittany thought.

"Okay, first, I want a unicorn, with a majestic silver mane, sparkling golden horseshoes—oh, and magnetic, too, so it can hover like those Japanese magnetic trains!—a resounding neigh, a fanning ponytail, and an ivory overall figure!" Brittany started enthusiastically, enumerating all the features she wanted on her unicorn. "Also, it has to have a _really_ strong horn. Like, metal alloys strong!"

_Okay, random chemistry reference_, Santana thought.

"A combination of steel, copper, magnesium, platinum, aluminum, and whatever is physically possible to mix! I want to help the world by drilling into the earth and finding more oil and maybe even discovering unknown natural resources so that we don't hurt our planet anymore!"

_Unexpected environmentalist? _Santana thought to herself.

"And also, the horn has to be able to create food by zapping it into existence! Whoever is riding the unicorn just has to think about what they want to eat and—poof—it'll appear, all Houdini-like! That way, I can fly high-speed to Africa and China, and other places where people are hungry and feed them by having them ride my unicorn. They can eat and have fun at the same time!"

_Such a humanitarian_, Santana wiped at invisible tears. _Almost makes me want to be a better person. Almost._

"But it doesn't even end there! I want it to—"

"Aaaalright, stop right there, again," Santana said, pushing her palm forward. "I can't grant you those requests. I'm a service girl, not a genie."

"Silly, you don't have to be a genius to make this happen," Brittany replied easily. "Well, maybe we could read some 'for Dummies' books, become learned Harvard scholars, and then genetically engineer a new species of animal! We'll just combine the egg of a dove and the sperm of a horse, rewriting the DNA blueprint providing for a horn, so that the ending result will be a new mutated—!"

"WHOA, OKAY! I think we've gone far enough speculating the breaking of the laws of nature, so how about we just focus on an easier request?"

"But, what's so bad about my other idea?" Brittany questioned, grumbling childishly.

"Okay, um, how do I put this…?" Santana mused, gazing at the ceiling, as if it would just drop on her and smack her with an explanation. "Alright, how would you feel if a donkey made love to a rabbit?"

"…"

"…"

"Love is love," Brittany replied sagely.

Santana made a buzzer sound.

"NO, IT'S NOT RIGHT!" Santana corrected. "You can't even picture that without cringing! And I've seen _several_ cringe-worthy sights at this place, so trust me when I say that is SO WRONG."

"I can visualize it," Brittany quietly responded, shrugging. "Want me to help you? You just imagine them by a haystack, the rabbit at the front while the donkey's at the back—"

"NOT. RIGHT."

"You're the one who put the image into our heads," Brittany mumbled.

Seeing how adamant Santana was being about this hypothetical situation, the blonde decided to let it go.

"But, a unicorn is the biggest thing I want, so if I can't have that, what else could I ask for?" Brittany inquired dejectedly.

"Anything that we could do in the confines of this room," staunchly established Santana, arms folded.

_Okay, she'll get the hint now_, Santana thought to herself. _Any normal human being's head can only be filled with one type of activity when that sentence is uttered._

Brittany furrowed her eyes in critical concentration, and her features quickly loosened as she came to realization.

"Okay," she said lowly. "I know what I want."

Santana steeled herself, once again recurring to Sapphire's guise.

Her eyes glinted sensually, as she urged Brittany to continue. "And what would that be?"

"I want…"

"Mm-hmm."

"…you…"

"Go on…"

"…to give me…"

"Mmm…"

"Pole-dancing lessons."

"Uh-huh… _HUH_!?" Well, that wasn't in the job description. "Wait, come again?"

"Me. You. Pole-dancing lessons. Right now," cheerfully said Brittany, bouncing with excitement. "You were soooo good up onstage! You see, I'm a dancer. Or, well, used to be. Or, wait, does the act of dancing just automatically make me a dancer? Or do I need to work as one? Anyway, you were so pro on that pole. I've always wanted to try pole dancing, but for obvious reasons, my parents never allowed me to learn it. They didn't even let me buy a pole. So I trained by a school bus stop pole. They eventually had the sign removed and the children were sent to a different waiting area. I still wonder why…"

Santana chuckled demurely. She wasn't used to doing so in these rooms. Not honestly, anyway.

"I feel for those kids," Santana managed to get out. "That must have been scarring"

"What about me?" Brittany demanded, stomping the floor. "I'm the one whose pole got removed. That was the only place I had to practice!"

Santana full-out laughed now, palming her mouth to muffle the sounds. "Oh my Gawd, stop, ha ha ha!"

"Why are you covering yourself up?" Brittany questioned. "You look even prettier when you're smiling. That's a total cliché saying, but it's true!"

Santana felt self-conscious now, so she calmed her laughter and just smiled at the blonde, shaking her head. "You're unbelievable."

"So… is that a yes, then?" Brittany asked eagerly. "Do I get my lessons?"

Santana was on the verge of agreeing to the request when she glanced at the clock and her expression subtly deflated.

Brittany was not usually very much in touch with other people's facially expressed emotions, but she had lived long enough to know that the change in features Santana just underwent was not a good sign.

"Oh, no, I don't like that look," Brittany lamented.

Santana sighed, feeling bad for her client. "The answer will have to be 'no,' Miss Adams."

Brittany's ears perked up. She glanced up at Santana, confused.

Santana mistook her confusion for not understanding the reason she was being turned down.

"Look," she said, directing her finger at the clock. "We have two minutes left. We won't even have time to descend the pole."

"Descend?"

"Do you see the compartment up at the ceiling?" Santana said, turning her index finger upwards. "We can open it and down comes a pole. It even has a place of landing, at another compartment hidden by the carpet."

"Hmm, pretty hi-tech," Brittany commented.

"It's how we stay on top," Santana replied proudly. "Perverted engineers make things happen."

"Word," said the blonde. "So… what do we do for the next one minute?"

"Why, Miss Adams, are you suggesting a quickie?" Santana playfully said. There was nothing wrong with flirting with the clients. It was part of the job. She really did not judge, whether boy or girl, when it came to her work (if she served both, she'd earn twice the money) but when it came to serious relationships… well, there was only one way to go, and that was the right way.

Not that she ever bothered to think about that.

She was not one for relationships. Having to take another person into consideration whenever making a decision only slowed one down. Santana was independent. She did not rely on anyone, and no one relied on her. It was best to go through life without the burden of another human being weighing on you. Besides, people in relationships were mostly lonely losers, incapable of making it for themselves unless they have company.

It's a sorry fact of the human condition.

Santana, though, was not like the rest.

She could become successful all on her own, not asking anyone favors, and not owing anyone anything.

She made acquaintances, colleagues, and lovers, never teammates, friends, or beloveds.

"There's that name again," Brittany said, confused. "Why do you call me 'Miss Adams'? Have we been role-playing this whole time and I didn't know it? Oh my gamut, is this another tradition? OH, NO, I'VE DOOMED MY NEXT SEVEN GENERATIONS!"

Santana quirked her brow in perplexity. She grabbed Brittany's shoulder and pulled her up, as the girl had crouched down on the carpeted floor and began to apologize through blubbers to Brittany 2.0, 3.0, 4.0, 5.0, to be continued.

"Isn't that your name?" Santana questioned, handing the blonde her file. "It says it on the form you filled out. Unless wrote down a fake name, which is perfectly fine, because a lot of people do it. You know, most don't want to be affiliated with a place like this, especially people in high positions. Are you, like, the princess of Timbuktu or something?"

"No," Brittany replied in monotone. "I'm the queen." She grinned.

They both chuckled.

"But, really, my name's not 'Miss Adams,'" she quickly corrected, doing air quotes. "It's Brittany S. Pierce."

….

….

….

Santana chuckled. "Okay, it was funny the first time, now what is it really?"

Brittany was taken aback. "B-but I'm really Brittany S. Pierce!"

Santana took a subtle step back. _Crap, I bumped into one of the crazies. I KNEW she wasn't normal!_

"I swear, it is!" Brittany insisted.

"I-I'm sure it is!" Santana conformed complacently.

"You're looking at me weird," Brittany cried. "You don't believe me!"

"Well, do you really expect me to believe you're the hotshot superstar that went through a mental breakdown, shaved her head, snogged Madonna, flashed her va-jay-jay to the paparazzi, and almost dropped her kid while carrying him !?"

"What! ? No, not that one!" Brittany immediately defended.

"There's more of you! ?" Santana shouted, alarmed.

At this precise moment, the phone located next to the entrance of the private room rang and Santana quickly walked to answer it.

"Kurt, get me out of here, I think I might be locked with a deranged mental patient," Santana hastily whispered into the phone. "Have you seen any notices from the Zenith newspapers about psychos freshly escaped from the asylum? I might just have one—"

"Santana, if you'd just let me talk, first you'd realize I'm not Kurt, but Artie on the other line," Artie clarified.

"Does it matter? Just tell me where my next job's at and Get. Me. Out," she voiced urgently.

"Oh, I'd be glad to, seeing how you haven't been doing your job for the past hour, anyway," he revealed with poorly hidden irritation.

"Hey, what's with the reproaching tone? Only I'm allowed to get moody on your asses," Santana snapped.

"Well, I'm allowed to get mad, too, after I've had to fend off for myself and try to calm the raging beast that is Mr. Adams out here at the front desk!" he hissed, very aware of Mr. Adams' imposing presence still near him. "You were supposed to have been servicing him this past hour! And I've tried countless times to get in touch with you but you wouldn't pick up the damn phone!"

The loud music.

Oh.

_Sheesh, he hardly cusses,_ Santana inwardly thought. _This is bad._

Santana doesn't even remember a so-called Mr. Adams, but if he's asking for her, she must have pleased him well during their last session, whenever that was. She tries not to even recall what her clients look like, because she honestly doesn't care, but there are times when she is forced to, as remembering familiar faces earns her more money (clients love it when you recognize them, and pretend to have been lonely when they were absent). Pfft, as if.

"Wait, so, if Mr Adams is out there, then…" she distanced her mouth from the phone and fully made eye contact with the blonde she had spent the past hour with. "Who are you?"

Brittany sighed. "I told you already, I'm Brittany S. Pierce."

Santana sent her a skeptical, "Really? Just drop it" type of look before coming back to the phone.

"Okay, what do you want me to do now, then?" she questioned angrily. "I can't turn back time."

"Sorry, Santana, but you're gonna have to give up an hour of your break to service him," Artie broke it to her.

"Ugh," Santana sighed in exasperation. "This couldn't possibly get any worse."

"For free," Artie added.

"WHAT? WORK FOR FREE? AIN'T NOBODY GOT TIME FOR THAT!" Santana practically screamed into the phone.

"Well, if you had shown up to escort Mr. Adams into the private room, we probably wouldn't have to be refunding him from your salary right now!" Artie scolded.

"What? They're supposed to be waiting in the room for us already! You can't blame me for not coming to get him!" the fiery Latina argued.

"Well, as soon as you didn't see him _in the room_, it should have followed that you needed to retrieve him," Artie continued.

Santana's eyes widened.

"But…" she one again turned to Brittany, who was staring at her with a puzzled expression. She knew that the Latina had encountered some sort of problem, but hearing snippets of the conversation without context, it was really difficult to decode the trouble in the situation. "There _was_ someone in the room."

Realization slapped her in the face like her mama when she cursed in church.

_Ah, GawdDammit, _Santana cursed in her head, annoyed. _Don't tell me I got a stupid freeloader? I heard of this happening to other chicks, but to think it could ever happen to me? Ugh, nice going, Santana, just fucking great… I gotta start checking ID's before starting anything, now. That's_** so**_ not sexy._

"Santana?" Artie called from the other line. "You there, still?"

"Yea, yea, I get it, I kind of don't have a choice in this, anyway," Santana grumbled, mumbling some indistinct Spanish curses.

She hung up.

She menacingly began a slow walk towards Brittany, glaring bombs at the nervous girl.

"Um, so, what happened?" she timidly asked.

"Get out," Santana said at a threateningly low volume.

"…What?" Brittany mumbled out timorously.

"I SAID SEE YOUR ASS OUT OF THIS CLAUSTROPHOBICALLY DWARFISH ROOM BEFORE I GO ALL LIMA HEIGHTS ON EVERY DAMNED CREVICE OF YOUR FINE BODY UNTIL YOU WON'T EVER HAVE TO WORRY ABOUT YOUR SEVEN GENERATIONS BECAUSE YOU WON'T GET TO HAVE THEM, CAPICHE? ! ? ! ? !"

Brittany didn't even have time to explain the situation, how she came about stumbling into the room, because Santana was already pushing her out the door, without even so much as looking at her.

She turned around one last time to try and explicate the occurrence but she was got a door promptly slammed in her face.

_Sapphire sure was mad_, Brittany sadly thought to herself, nursing the tip of her nose. _And here I thought I'd made a friend…_

Brittany began the lonely trudge back to her Home Depot box at the central park of Zenith. She didn't feel like exploring the club anymore. She wasn't even sure whether or not she was thankful those college kids brought her here in the first place, if this kind of treatment was all she ultimately received.

Meanwhile, at the other side of the door…

Santana did remember the momentary fun times she spent with Brittany (if that was really her name), but she treated it just like any other one of her casual flings, except that this one did not involve anything sexual, just… talking. It was weird. She hadn't done that in a while. Not with anyone outside of her circle of workmates.

But the negative emotions roiled within her, and she bitterly seethed at the thought of having lost both her time and money on a sneaky freeloader. Screw the good times, if she could have been doing something more productive, more conducive to her goals, she would have blown that pretty blonde off the very minute she saw her.

_Pretty…?_

What. The. Hell.

She needed to stop this bizarre train of thought. Who knew where it might be headed?

She decided that, rather than wait for her patron, she should just do what Artie had earlier suggested and escort him into the private room.

As Brittany finally located the exit of Katharsis, an enormously large building indeed, she spotted Sapphire emerging from one of the hallways (the ones lined with private rooms), and for a hopeful minute allowed herself to think that the Latina felt bad and had come out looking for her in order to apologize.

What are friendships without some fights to put one to the test, right?

She was about to make her way over, to make it easier on the other girl, when she saw her brilliantly shoot a smile at someone else.

Who?

Her eyes searched around and found the target of such engaging smile.

A man wearing a suit, who was politely taking off his hat and extending out his arm in order to allow Sapphire to take it and lead him into the lengthy hallways, probably to the room the she and the Latina had been occupying earlier.

Brittany wasn't very good at reading emotion, but she had lived long enough to know that a smile directed at someone meant you were glad to see him or her.

She hadn't smiled at her like that throughout the whole period they spent together.

If Sapphire hadn't smiled at her like that, then she probably hadn't enjoyed her company at all. There were a few laughs. But who's to say she hadn't faked it?

It was hard for the blonde dancer to understand their exchange. Any exchange she had with people, really. She could be friendly, nice, funny, and kind. But she could never comprehend others' intentions.

Brittany had an uncanny… disability, as some might say.

She couldn't understand others' emotions, unless she touched them.

* * *

Sorry for the long wait. So what do you think? My writing skills are a bit rusty, but I'll get better. That's one of the reasons I began this story, after all!


	3. Chapter 3

"_AND I WAS LIKE_

_BABY, BABY, BABY, NOOOOO_

_LIKE_

_BABY, BABY, BABY, OOOOO—"_

Rachel awoke in alarm and bustled out of her mummy-like sleeping position to find the source of the sudden hubbub, only to belatedly realize she was still neatly wrapped in her satin sheets and rolling off of bed towards her inevitable collision with the floor – at least it was matted.

But there were dust bunnies.

And they got stuck on her freshly applied green clay mask.

And now the floor was marred of its immaculacy due to unsightly green splotches.

And, just to add insult to injury, the resident cockroach crawled out from a clandestine hole to pay the rent.

"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH HHHHH!"

~ X ~ X ~ X ~

"What's that noise?"

A neighbor!husband asked, turning off the stove fan and readjusting his apron.

A neighbor!wife put down her newspaper, stopped blowing bubbles with her pipe, and sat up from her recliner.

"Do you think it's…"

She looked at her husband.

"Yeah, I'm beginning to think so, too," he confirmed.

"It's got to be Baby by Justin Bieber," she finished.

And they both returned to their morning proceedings in satisfaction, relieved to have appeased their curiosities.

~ X ~ X ~ X ~

"How incredibly dreadful!" Rachel grumbled distastefully, typing away at her computer. "I can assert with utmost confidence that I did not leave my computer alarm preferences to HasBeenOnlinePopSensations, but on BroadwayClassics4DWannabes. So how did I wake up to this mainstream tune?"

Rachel reconfigured her system preferences and shut down her laptop.

She had already disentangled herself from her sheets, washed off her ruined facial treatment, brushed off her blemished floor, swept the dust bunnies away, and left the impertinent cockroach entrapped in a glass container at the last step of her apartment's staircase, to be exposed and fried by the sun, its remains to hopefully become biomass that could be used for the energy benefits of society.

_I always think of everything, _Rachel thought to herself in self-approval. _Ah, that's just me, never stops giving._

It was 6:00 a.m. in the morning.

She didn't actually have to start making her way to work until 5 p.m., but sleeping in was an unproductive manner to spend precious hours of one's life. She rather liked having an entire day to look forward to. And, yes, she had bloodshot eyes from working late shifts, and yes, she also had bags under her eyes, and yes, her buttocks was itching due to yet unidentified reasons, but reasons that were not going to hold her back!

_Ms. Pillsbury must have become distracted by a stubborn blemish in her reading glasses and spent several hours trying to remove it, thus forgetting to disinfect some of the bar stools, _Rachel rationalized passively, swiftly scratching her behind. _Her persistence is so admirable. If I harbor half as much of her determination, I am certain to one day realize my dream – making it to Broadway!_

Rachel slipped out of her pajamas and entered her bathtub for a quick, refreshing shower.

_I'm already in New York, where the Broadway Theatre is situated, which means I have already completed one vital step in my multi-faceted plan to make it on the big stage. _

Rachel did actually have a multi-faceted plan towards her big break.

She had already phased through her early goals – work on building her tragic backstory by making her childhood as miserable as she could, until age 12, when puberty would hit, and she would be struck by an epiphany: she wasn't meant to rot her days out in Israel, arrange marry a man from the United Arab Emirates, and be left at home taking care of numerous children named after biblical figures while he went out to live it up in she-hasn't-thought-out-a-place-yet.

She was made for stardom.

She had more to offer to the world than her uterus.

Anyway, long backstory short, she would build around herself a moving tale of rags to riches, from possessing nothing, to lording over matter. In New York, she would work at Katharsis to develop performance skills and showcase her talent in hopes—no—with the knowledge that one day a hotshot scout would enter through the imposing doors, flash her a business card, recruit her, and propel her to fame.

_It's all part of the plan,_ Rachel assured herself every morning.

She stepped out of the shower, slung a bathrobe on, and dried her hair as she contentedly gazed at herself in the mirror.

Another wonderful day, nudging her closer to her destiny, her respected status, her life of glamour, her countless photo shoots, her sex scandals, her celebrity signings, and nearest and dearest, her payday, as she had many store dues withstanding and she couldn't allow her Angel card from Victoria's Secret to be annulled.

~ X ~ X ~ X ~

"Hmrrrrrgh…"

"Ngh… Sugar… tell your gastric juices to be quiet…"

"Phoooo….."

"Ahngh… No, Harmony… you tell your butt to stop dealing silent killers…"

"Hmph…I'm not"—Harmony realized she was addressing Sugar's read; she sleepily rolled the other girl around to face her—"I'm not the one making those noises…"

Sugar groaned, eyes still shut. "Then who…?"

Harmony rubbed her eyes and lazily looked through the gap between the driver's seat Sugar was sleeping in and the passenger's seat she herself was occupying.

Rory was sprawled out the length of the back seat, face-down, and snoring like a sasquatch.

_Great, this just had to go and be the manliest thing about him,_ Harmony thought with mild irritation.

"Sugar, it's just…"

She paused to yawn.

"C'mon… don't leave me… in suspense," Sugar voiced without conviction.

Harmony narrowed her eyes slightly. "As if you're even conscious enough to listen…"

"Stop nagging… and take that… dodo bird wig off…" Sugar finished. "They're… endangered…"

If Harmony weren't still too mellowed over by her sleepiness, she would have raised an incredulous eyebrow.

"It was just Rory," she replied. "And dodo's are extinct."

"Whose fault is that…?" Sugar mumbled out, ensconcing herself further in the jacket she'd draped over herself.

This time, Harmony _did _quirk a choleric eyebrow up.

"Well, if the offending remarks are any sign, I think your brain is functioning well enough for you to get up," Harmony spat, bending over Sugar and abruptly cranking her seat forward.

The momentum had Sugar faceslam against the wheel.

"OOOOOOOOWWWWW, MY NOSEEEE!" Sugar whined nasally. "You know my insurance doesn't cover me here! ! ! !"

"Lesson of the day: call it quits with your wits," Harmony with faux saccharinity.

"Whatever, you're just jealous 'cause your pace in my race has no game," Sugar countered petulantly.

"I told you to stop," sighed Harmony, folding her arms.

Sugar stared her down.

"What are you doing?" the brunette asked after a while.

"You told me to stop, so I did so, 'cause if not, you'd blow your top," Sugar replied smoothly.

Harmony glared at her.

Sugar leaned in and whispered, "Rory might like that."

Harmony lightly, but nevertheless brusquely, pushed Sugar back, and the latter snickered.

Rory began to stir awake due to all the commotion at the front end of the car. He languidly raised his head to see what all the fuss was about.

"Well, I'm heading back to bed!" Sugar announced. "Well—the car seat."

She promptly cranked her seat all the way back, bludgeoning Rory smack-dab in the skull.

A weak groan, and an alarming crack(? ? ? ?), was heard.

"OH MY GAWD, RORYYYYYY! ! ! ! !"

"OH MY GAWD, THE CHIIIIIIIPS! ! ! !"

"Really, Sugar? REALLY ! ?"

"Hey, where I'm from, Lays went out of business," Sugar shrugged, opening the bag and popping a broken chip into her mouth.

She held the bag out to Harmony

Harmony shook her head in disbelief and ignored Sugar to tend to Rory.

"Rory, are you okay?" Harmony inquired in concern.

"Ugh, yeah, yeah, just a mild concussion," Rory reassured. "Maybe marginal brain damage that could result in a tumor someday…. But, otherwise, doing fine, doing fine…"

"I'm glad," Harmony breathed out in relief.

"Did I do something to anger Sugar, or...?" he began with uncertainty.

"What? Nah, nothing of the sort, Rory," Sugar said dismissively. "There's no blood on the headrest so my parents won't get mad once I take the car back. We're cool. You want some breakfast?"

Sugar held the bag of chips out to Rory.

"Sure," he said, rubbing the back of his head.

"What happened to the nicknames?" Harmony asked suspiciously.

"That's so yesterday, Harmony," Sugar said with her mouth full. "Why do you ask? Did you actually like yours? Aww, I knew you were into it!"

"Don't go assuming things," Harmony muttered out. "I was just wondering…"

"You know, Rory, you make a great nutcracker," Sugar complimented.

"Thanks, it was one of the top results in my career match test," Rory said abashedly, stretching his neck. "Right after window washer."

"Sweet," Sugar said "I got Supreme Court justice."

"Nice, you _were_ always the first to judge people," Rory said conversationally, chewing his chips.

"Stop flattering me," Sugar squealed, blushing.

"How do you get Supreme Court justice and I get funeral director?" Harmony questioned incredulously.

"I don't know, Harmony, your personality does kind of suck the joy out of living," Sugar offered casually.

Harmony narrowed her eyes. "Thanks."

"No prob," Sugar said dismissively. "I do have a great _judge_ of character, after all."

"I think…"—Rory cleared his throat—"I think you're fun, Harmony..."

"I appreciate that, Rory," Harmony said kindly. "At least someone's happy to have me around."

"C'mon, don't be like that," Sugar coaxed her moody friend. "I wouldn't have you around if I didn't like you. I would have already framed you with some crime and left you to waste your days away in some prison in Timbuktu."

"Why Timbuktu?" Harmony queried, perplexed.

"It was the first country that came into my mind," Sugar explained. "There's just something cool about international fugitives, y'know?"

"…Right."

"I like you, Harmony," Sugar stated.

"Uh-huh."

"I do," Sugar continued. "I really like you."

"Okay… thanks, I guess?" Harmony said with trepidation. "I like you, too?"

"Good, because I _truly_, _really, incredibly_ like you," Sugar reiterated with ardent passion, fixing her gaze into Harmony's.

"Rory, check the nutrition facts on those chips, and don't eat any more!" Harmony warned hastily, too freaked out to get sentimental.

Rory made to snatch the bag from Sugar's hands.

"What are you—! ? Noooooo, let go of my chiiiiips!" Sugar cried.

They wrangled over the bag until Sugar won when she pushed Rory into the back seat.

She was breathing heavily, but gloriously. "Hah… hah… huff… whoa, I need to work out. I almost got beat by a girl!"

"Hey!" Rory squeaked out, wheezing from the exertion.

"Kidding, kidding," Sugar appeased. She then turned to her other disturbed friend, the previous target of her affectionate words. "Harmony, because of my great judge of character, I know that you're an insecure girl in constant need of reassurance. That's why I tried to raise your self-esteem by reassuring you that our friendship is mutual. I mean, you're totally my sidekick, but other than that, we're equals."

"Seriously, who even created that stupid career match test? It's got to be flawed. If you're the future of America, I give up, I just… can't," Harmony said with mild frustration, raising her arms up in surrender to the merciless days of morrow.

"Guys, let's not fight," Rory said after recovering, taking both of the girls' hands and uniting them. "We came here with a purpose, right? We gotta follow through before our parents find out."

"Aw, Rory, you're so cute," Sugar said with a coo. "Harmony and I do this aaaall the time. It's our usual banter. It's how we bond, right, Harmony?"

Harmony banged her forehead on the headrest. "Rory's right, we can't let any distractions get in the way of our self-assigned mission."

"This is a mission trip?" Sugar questioned. "Cheesus, I forgot my bible…"

"I saw a bookstore close by, we can get one there," Rory reassured.

"YOU GUYS, THIS IS NOT A MISSIONARY TRIP! ! !" Harmony reminded.

"You sure? Some of this people are in legit need of a savior…"

"Sugar, you're the one that came up with the crazy idea of driving all the way to New York!"

"I was kidding, sheesh," Sugar grumbled, folding her arms over her chest.

"Um… yeah…sure… me too," Rory mumbled.

Harmony sighed.

Sugar squeezed her hand and smiled. "Don't stress."

Harmony raised her head to meet Sugar's eyes. "I'm not… I just… sometimes it feels like you don't take things seriously enough…"

_That's great, they're talking things out,_ Rory thought contentedly.

"I knoooooow… I knoooow… but I want to make this trip fun," Sugar said, concedingly "For the three of us."

Harmony locked her gaze on their clasped hands. She sighed. She was always so easy to give in. "Okay. I get it."

"You get it?" Sugar questioned with a charming grin.

"I get that you want us to have a blast, rock it out with locals, get some mission-related work done on the side, and maybe find ourselves passed out and dehydrated in some ditch one Sunday morning with killer headaches and convenient amnesia, or the like," Harmony conceded with an almost imperceptible smile.

"Yay, you're back to your regular sarcastic self!" Sugar cheered, clapping.

"But you're taking us to the waffle house or starbucks after this," Harmony badgered, to save face. "I'm not letting junk food down my throat."

"Would you prefer some weenies, then?" Sugar offered slyly.

"Now that I can swallow," Harmony replied.

"I bet," Sugar followed mischievously.

Harmony's eyes burst out of her sockets. "SUGAR! ! ! !"

Sugar cachinnated uncontrollably, rolling around the driver's seat and lightly banging into random objects strewn about the seat.

"Oh my gawd, I can't believe it took you so long to figure it out! ! !" Sugar guffawed, eyes squeezed shut with small linings of tears bordering at the slits.

"I SWEAR ONCE I GET MY BODY TO STOP WRACKING WITH INSURMOUNTABLE FURY AND MY HEAD TO STOP SPINNING WITH ALL THE INTENSELY AGONIZING, LEGALLY QUESTIONABLE COURSES OF ACTIONS I COULD POSSIBLY TAKE AGAINST YOU, YOU'RE GONNA GET CLOBBERED BY MY FISTS! ! !"

"Um, Harmony, I don't think it's fury that's making your body feel like that," Rory provided fearfully.

"Not now, Rory, I'm about to blow the exhaust pipe! ! !"

"Yeah, you are~" Sugar further teased, giggling.

"Sugar, when did you become so… so… _vulgar_!" Harmony expressed with an appalled look. "I'm telling on you!"

"You wouldn't!"

"I would too."

"Would not."

"Would too."

"Would not."

"Would too."

"Would—"

"—you guys quit it, can't you feel the car's moving! ? ! ?" Rory interceded with urgency.

"WHAT! ? I thought that feeling was due to the sheer intensity of my rage! !" Harmony shared in alarm.

"WHAT! ? I thought that was because I fed Rory too many chips! !" Sugar cried out in panic.

"WHAT! ? I thought that was because you hit the handbrake with your elbow while you were laughing! ! !" Rory supplied.

"… Rory, it's no fun if what you say is actually right…"

"Oh no, we're falling backwards!"

"Whose bright idea was it to park on a hill! ? !?" Harmony clamored for an answer

"Tee-hee~!"

"**SUGAR!**"

~ X ~ X ~ X ~

Quinn was redoing her make-up in Victoria's Secret public restroom.

Of course, she locked it because the art of painting her face required the utmost concentration, and she didn't need a girl with a bursting bladder busting in and causing her to botch her eyeliner.

_It's happened too many times already, _Quinn thought to herself, distressed.

It had happened once.

_It's becoming troubling, _Quinn continued disconcertedly.

It had happened once.

_They really should make a policy against people rudely barging in and disrupting others as they defecate, urinate, regurgitate, or apply make-up, _Quinn contemplated, distraught.

It. Had. Only. Happened. **Once**.

"I think I'll file a complaint," Quinn said to herself in self-satisfaction after she wiped some excess lipstick off her thin, delicate lips.

As Quinn sauntered her way out of the bathroom, unlocking the door and having a pre-pubescent girl bolt right past her. Even though the girl was clearly rushing through her with a constipated expression, she still took a few seconds to regard Quinn's stunning looks because, come on, she was the epitome of everything every self-esteem lacking, self-conscious bulimic or anorexic chick devastated her health and anatomy to be.

Even when Quinn wasn't looking stupendous, at her worst she could be described as looking maybe like… Kim Kardashian—actually, that's too insulting—maybe an older Angelina Jolie. And, at her best, she was probably comparable to a young Jennifer Aniston or a current day Olivia Wilde.

Of course, these qualitative measurements of comparison were only necessary if one had not ever had the fortune of beholding the almost divine features that formed Quinn's facial sculpture.

If one had, then it would become strikingly clear that Quinn's beauty could not be gauged. She easily and single-handedly established her own category just by existing.

_Now, if I were a complaint box, where would I be_? Quinn deliberated.

She panned her line of vision left and right and, as she was doing so, locked on a sales clerk's desk.

_Oh, well, it's more fun to tear them down in person and see them cower and apologize profusely for their inadequacy, _Quinn darkly through to herself with a smirk.

Quinn confidently strode over to the desk with an upbeat click to her heels and an almost malicious grin on her gorgeous, expectant face.

Her anticipation quickly stilled and instantly dissipated when she recognized the individual that was at the moment speaking to the sales clerk.

"—And so, although I currently do not find myself in the financial position to pay my monthly bill, I assure you with the certainty that the sun is to rise that I will have this month's _as well as_ next month's dues ready to hand in come the following repayment period."

Well, Quinn didn't exactly her recognize her face so much as she recognized her voice.

That enviable voice.

"So," the sales clerk, an 18-year-old saving up for oral contraceptives dispensed by the underground economy, began, "I'm getting that you don't, like, have the money?"

"Not at the present time, I'm afraid," Rachel regretfully informed.

"Well, why did'ja have to beat around the bush for so long?" the sales clerk questioned peevishly. "You could've just opened with that."

Rachel appeared perplexed. "I just… I wanted to be sure that the Victoria's Secret franchise was cognizant of my situation and respectable credit. I did not wish to be perceived as an undependable customer whose credibility would be subject to further scrutiny."

"So… you just didn't want any trouble, basically?"

"Well, I suppose if one truncated my message into simpler and more succinct terms, it could be said that I did want to convey—"

"So you just didn't want any trouble, basically?"

"… Yes."

"Cool. Your Angel card's still active," the sales clerk finished with disinterest.

"Fantastic!" Rachel beamed. "I would like to thank you for your disposition to dispense information as well as your generously attentive presence. I will now resume my lingerie shopping."

"Knock yourself out," the girl drawled out as she pulled out a Vogue magazine and leaned forward on her elbows to skim through the pictures.

Quinn watched, unmoving, as Rachel walked away from the desk and headed into a section of interest in the store.

And then her synapses finally clicked into a spark and she realized that the short brunette was _walking away._

Her body took control before she was even able to summon a coherent, cognitive command.

She raced.

"Mhph!"

"Oh!"

She bumped into her.

"Goodness, how careless of me, I sincerely apologize!"

"No… no, don't, it was my bad, I wasn't watching where I was going."

The polite brunette nodded in acknowledgment and resumed her projected path.

_Shoot, I panicked, _Quinn irritably thought to herself in mild embarrassment. _Why did I even do that? I hardly know her!_

True.

Quinn had no idea who that girl was. All she knew was that she listened to her mellifluous voice at the time when, against her better judgment, she stepped a dainty foot into club Katharsis.

After she had found the advertising square of toilet paper with bits of mud(?), she mentally checked over her entire schedule and realized that she had nothing better to do—other than Everest-sized piles of homework to slave over, a student government meeting (of which she was the head) to attend, a sorority initiation speech to discourse, and a hazing procedure to preside over.

Ain't no thang. Girl had time.

_I can't believe she didn't have the slightest idea of who I was,_ Quinn thought to herself indignantly, arms folded before her puffed out chest. _I mean, couldn't she even recall my face!_

And one does not simply "forget" Quinn Fabray's face.

Quinn sighed out her frustrations.

She didn't even know why she was reacting in this way.

The girl… what was she called? Safir… Spittle… Splash… Spear…Sphere… Sphene…SPHENE! Sphene probably met various clubbers every night and had no time to devote to learning names or faces, so understandably she hardly had any recollection of Katharsis' guests.

So why exactly did she take any personal offense for the girl not recognizing her?

They hadn't met.

They hadn't talked.

They hadn't accidentally but serendipitously run into each other in the public restroom.

They hadn't sung Happy Birthday to a nearby customer who was celebrating the achievement of making it to his 21st year inhabiting this despicable world.

They hadn't even come into a 10-meter radius of each other.

But they had made eye contact.

Then again, Sphene had made eye contact with over three fourths of the crowd, and the audience must be blacked out from the performer's point of view, so who's to say that Quinn hadn't imagined it all?

After a few more distressing minutes, Quinn decided to give up on identifying her newly sprouted emotions, and instead focused on the most prevalent one—distaste.

She really didn't like that Sphene chick. She wasn't sure why, but that girl had hurt her pride. And amidst all these negative feelings that were broiling in the pit of the small black hole that was her heart, Quinn wasn't one to go down without a proper catfight.

Metaphorical, of course. Manicures don't come cheap.

~ X ~ X ~ X ~

_HAWLEY SMOOT! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !...….. tariff act of 1930, _Rachel inwardly thought to herself, agitated.

She briskly marched through the store into whatever section established the most protracted distance between herself and the customer she had recently run into.

But then she noticed that the Victoria's Secret store was a giant loop, and found herself approaching aforementioned customer, and thus rapidly strode backwards with a remarkable sense of direction.

She turned on her heel and came across a mannequin sporting a wardrobe choice that she suddenly decided to take an interest in.

_It's her! _She mentally exclaimed, gears turning in her head. _She was at last night's performance! Did she recognize me? I surely hope not. Her eyes were quite large as they landed on me, but that may have sprouted from the shock of running into me rather than recognition._

Rachel continued to ramble in her head, listing off the various interpretations that could be spawned from the widening of the girl's eyes after their collision.

At work, the chirpy brunette always took attentive care to etch into memory all customers that were in attendance during her performance, which is why she believed in making firm eye contact with the audience as she entertained them.

_Others tell me that it's creepy and unsettling and to, as Santana so eloquently put it, 'Just cut that [profanity] out!' _Rachel thought to herself. _I, however, believe that it establishes and unspoken connection between the audience member and the performer, allowing them to form a personal, albeit ephemeral, bond that will remain faintly sustained throughout their time apart but grow exponentially powerful as the audience member frequents the club to see the performer and gradually lessens his or her intervals of absence._

Rachel was also about to explain how this financially benefited the Katharsis labor force but was skillfully tied to the catwalk at the elevated upstage and passed out from aeroacrophobia.

_Ah, curse my unfailing memory and excellent customer service! _Rachel thought to herself. _Were it not for my advanced face recognition skills, I wouldn't find myself in this dilemma at the present moment! _

The dilemma being, of course, that she is meeting one of the club's frequenters outside the club. This was problematic. Not only did it go against Katharsis' strict 'no seeing customers outside of work hours' rule, it also incited a feeling of intrusion into her personally established bubble of privacy.

It was not that Rachel did not take pride in the work she did; she was distinctly one of the best entertainers at Katharsis, but the feeling of… inadequacy… always seemed to distastefully stir within her once she was out of work and back in the real world, where people had jobs that most directly benefited the global society, not that strip clubs didn't, but they certainly employed much raunchier methods.

_I understand that my line of work is not regarded upon as favorably by the rest of my societal peers, _Rachel reminded herself. _However, when I memorized the customers' faces, I never once imagined that I would ever meet them outside of the establishment and find myself having to contend confrontation about my work. _

Pffft, okaaaaaaay, that was a joke.

Rachel imagined as many mathematically possible scenarios in which she met a customer outside of work, and in her mental representations of the encounter, she always found herself smoothly breezing through a potentially uncomfortable situation—she went out and bought them a sleeping pill-laden latte so that she could make her escape after they were knocked out; she pulled out a laptop and portable projector to present an argument for and against her identity being that of a late-night dancing and singing service girl at Katharsis; or she even expeditiously inflated her emergency 'me' balloon doll, left it standing before the customer, and scrammed before he or she noticed she was gone.

_Fantasy!Rachel had always been quicker to think on her feet than Reality!Rachel, _Rachel thought to herself dishearteningly.

Quinn had been watching all the different facial expressions flit across Sphene's face with mild amusement… and an undeniably slight tinge of disturbance.

_She's certainly… emotive,_ Quinn contemplated.

Rachel had been too busy spazzing over the concealment of her identity and her dual personality issues with fantasy!Rachel that she had failed to perceive Quinn's presence drawing subtly closer to her in the store's underwear sections.

Quinn, after overcoming her initial indignation at someone overlooking her unparalleled resplendence, had finally mollified her temper and just approached merely out need to satiate her curiosity—over what, though, she wasn't sure.

Maybe she just wanted to see how strippers acted outside their zone?

As she internally battled with herself, Rachel unexpectedly turned in Quinn's direction, hoping to find some inspiration in looking at a poster of one of the scantily-clad Victoria's Secret's models, but she was instead met with the mortifying profile of the girl that had caused this mental distress.

Not mortifying because the girl was a grotesque sight—she was actually quite kind to the eye—but because she was the customer Rachel was desperately trying to think of a smooth way to escape!

Quinn had sensed the movement in Rachel's direction and turned just in time to feign close inspection of a piece of lingerie she would normally leave to wither in natural disaster-stricken, radioactive zones.

Ah, well, it was time for the old balloon 'me' inflatable figure trick again. Rachel opened her purse and felt around for the wrinkled object, but realized she had brought the wrong purse (she had various, but the reasons, those were a story for another speech).

_Fortunately, I always put a foldable, body-sized cardboard cutout of myself in every single one of my purses. Although it is a two-dimensional figure only capable of distracting the target for a few seconds, it'll have to do, _Rachel thought to herself with confidence

Just as Rachel was about to reach into her purse to pull out her cardboard cutout, she noticed that another Victoria's Secret visitor was checking out the underwear sale collection, but what was startling about this was not the fact that the girl had been checking out what other female peers would judge as granny panties, but that the girl **swiped** it.

_Who in their right mind would swipe granny panties! ? _Quinn thought with an expression scribbled with horror.

_Who in their right mind would dare to take the panties I was about to purchase! _Rachel thought to herself, appalled.

Fashion aberrations and nonexistent proprietary disputes aside, the girls focused in on the problem.

This was a crime.

The girl walked off looking smug and the remaining petrified pair found themselves making eye contact for the second time since bumping into each other.

"Did you just—?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you think she just—?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you think I should just—?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you think _we _should just—?"

"Uh-huh."

"Do you think the store clerk just—?"

"Alright, that's it, are you just going to exhaust every general and personal pronoun in the English language! ?" Quinn finally snapped, exasperated. "She's getting away!"

"YES! Of course!" Rachel quickly broke out of her disbelief and shook her head into reason. "Here is what I believe we should do: we split up, with you chasing after the thief while I take the opportunity to make a mad dash to the store clerk and inform her of everything that has just transpired leading up to this point, including the details of this short but efficacious plan. In case you object, I feel that, from physical inspection, I have judged our respective capabilities well in assigning these positions as you have the greater leg length and thus you would be more likely to catch up to the thief and attract burly men with your feminine charm—as I am not currently dressed for the role—so that they may restrain her with a tight stronghold while you wait for my return with police authorities to arrest her for robbery. I am more suited for the speaking role as my articulate and succinct manner of communication will clearly convey the situation to both the clerk and the authorities so that—"

"WHATISTHISIDON'TEVEN—_please _tell me you're not being serious right now!" Quinn exclaimed with frustrated incredulity. "We just wasted an entire minute hashing out your ridiculously long idea of a plan! I don't even care what you have to blabber about anymore, I'm chasing after that fashionably insensible shoplifter!"

Rachel was left gaping and slightly offended as Quinn instantly turned around and skidded out of the store.

Rachel felt that she was being brief on the delivery too! She was going to omit the concluding portion where they became acclaimed mall heroes, attained worldwide fame, and procured a monetary award worth a fortune Paris Hilton herself wouldn't be able to afford even as jail bail!

She was going to save that part of the story for when things settled down.

"Well," Rachel said tightly, folding her arms, "if she chooses to operate solo, then I will let her be, but that does not mean I will not contribute to the apprehension of the swindler."

Rachel marched stiffly over to the sales clerk's desk.

~ X ~ X ~ X ~

"And that's the story of how I almost captured the panty thief," Rachel finished with self-satisfaction.

"Why you looking all proud?" Mercedes questioned, perplexed.

"You didn't even catch the bitch!" Santana called out with irritated incredulity.

"Thus explains why I included _almost_ in my statement," Rachel pointed out, undisturbed.

"Rachel, I don't see what glory there is to take in that," Kurt opinioned, arms crossed over his chest.

"I hope she sees realizes the gravity of her crime, returns the panties, and turns over a new leaf to start a life guided by ethical and moral righteousness," Marley voiced wishfully.

"Amen, sistah," Unique preached. "Amen."

"What happened to the blonde chick you said was with you?" Santana questioned.

"Well, after I went up to the sales clerk, she had—"

"Hey, why are you guys all gathered here?" Sam asked, popping his head into Rachel's dressing room. "I didn't know there was a faculty meeting? OH. NO. Have I been fired? Is this why I'm not included in the meetings! ? Why does nobody ever tell me anything! ? Not even that I don't work here anymore! ! !"

Sam tossed his apron onto the squeaky clean floor.

"Sam, calm your man-tits," Santana said with apathy.

"B-but I can _change_," Sam pleaded in unattractive desperation, blowing his nose on his discarded apron.

"This is a Katharsis girls meeting," Mercedes explained before Sam could continue to slobber and fall apart on Rachel's floor (the girl was anal retentive about neatness, and she didn't want to set _that_ fuse off).

"Whoa, not a sex change," Sam said, quickly picking himself up off the floor.

"You sure about that?" Unique queried, raising his eyebrow. "I'm saving up for it."

"Men," Kurt said, shaking his head ruefully. "So quick to back out on their promises."

"But, wait, Kurt isn't a girl," Sam noted, befuddled.

"Yeah, but boy's feminine enough to pass as one," Mercedes explicated. "I mean, between him and Santana, I ain't even sure who'd be more suitable to attend this meeting."

Santana perked up indifferently at hearing her name. "I'm only here 'cause I have a vagina."

"And I'm planning to get one soon," Unique commented. "So I'm surrounding myself with the XX's."

"Unique has always been one of us on the inside," Marley remarked with a diffident grin.

"Aww thanks, girl, I think you're black on the inside, too," Unique said affectionately.

"Uh… yay…?"

"Um, okay, then, why isn't Becky here?" Sam asked.

"She dissed us," Mercedes said, shrugging. "She prefers to spend time decapitating salmon in the kitchen than hanging out with us."

"But we're handling it surprisingly well," Marley added.

"Don't bite the hand that feeds you," Kurt said, reciting the old adage.

"Ah, I see, then why isn't Sue here?" Sam inquired.

"She isn't—"

"_Come. On. _What is this 21 questions?" Santana snarked. "This isn't even a meeting! We're just gathered here to talk about Berry's hero-wannabe misadventures! If I had known _this _was in store for me, I would have just stayed at the bar and spaced out while Sam did his Kanye West impressions."

"Hold on a minute!"

"Don't even," Santana spoke over him, palm high with attitude. "Consider it a complimentI actually find that marginally better than _this._"

"Alright, Santana, pipe down," Mercedes said. "We don't want you going all angry Chihuahua on us this early in the evening."

"Angry Chihua—_what_! ?" Santana reiterated, temper flaring. "Hmm, así eres entonces, ya veo como es la cosa… well, okay, if we're going to be slinging racial slurs at each other, I got a few of my own that I've just been _itching_ to try out for a while now!"

"Everyone, please stop fighting over me!" Rachel cried woefully, jumping in between the crowd of fellow colleagues.

"Rachel, hon… no one has even included you in the conversation this whole time," Kurt pointed out gently.

"Now, I beg to differ, Santana did mention me during the utterance of her clearly inaccurate diatribe," Rachel reminded, composed.

"Inaccurate diatribe? Listen, Berry, everything's not always about you and your big head and your big mouth!"

"Hey, **I'm **the one with the big mouth," Sam exclaimed, reclaiming an inherent part of his identity. "Don't take that away from me!"

"Yeah, smurf, don't take away trouty's only defining feature as a person!" Santana accused, being rather supportive of her huge-lipped friend, as he just happened to be convenient at the present moment.

"How has this argument abruptly pivoted to become about Sam's lips?" Rachel queried, befuddled.

"See? You can't even stand it for a minute when the conversation heads in a direction that isn't even remotely related to you," Santana noted, rolling her eyes.

"Santana, if I may say, you know perfectly well that was not the message I was trying to convey," Rachel replied, indignant.

"Girl, I love you, but you can be a little egocentric sometimes," Mercedes provided, throwing her two cents into the discussion.

"Preach," Unique said to Mercedes.

"I… I…. I think I'm just going to remain quiet and laugh or gasp at appropriate times," Marley quietly said to herself. _I don't want any bad blood to circulate between our group._

Plus, she wanted to keep her job and was in no position to disrespect her seniors.

"Well, you can kind of be a self-centered brat at times, Rach," Kurt provided.

Rachel gasped.

Marley gasped.

"Kurt, I thought at least you'd be on my side!" Rachel cried accusingly. "To think I have been betrayed by my closest work-category male friend!"

"I'm just being honest with you—wait, you categorize your friends?"

"Of course, I have a scrapbooked catalog, I can show it to you all at a later time if you'd like."

Everyone exchanged glances and mumbled in curious acquiescence.

"But, back to the point," Mercedes said. "Rachel, you have to learn to be more aware of others, and I mean that in a more spiritual rather than physical way."

"Yeah, you have to watch out for others rather than just yourself," Kurt continued. "Haven't you ever experienced the joy of helping someone else?"

Rachel scoffed. "Of course I have! Just today, I went after that criminal!"

"You didn't even catch her!"

"It's the thought that counts!

"And what exactly were your thoughts?"

"To help, evidently!"

"No, Rachel, deep down, what were you exact intentions?"

"… To help the store, and then maybe get interviewed by the local news station, attain more exposure, be recognized for my crime-solving and performing talents, and maybe start a for-personal-profit organization called "Rachel Berry's Crusaders for World Peace" that traveled around the world fighting injustices and carrying out musical performances for the entertainment and salvation of the miserable, lonely, and depressed. All the while building and improving my stage presence in order to become an EGOT before reaching the mature age of 29."

"Don't you see what's wrong with that picture?"

"…"

Rachel blankly stared at Kurt. Her eyes then suddenly lit up. "You're right, I can't believe I didn't see it before. I should change it to before reaching the mature age of 28. That's when Barbra Streisand became an EGOT and I'd absolutely love to be on par with my idol."

"No, the problem is that you're not really helping people!"

"But I am! Did you miss the part about Rachel Berry's Crusaders for World Peace?" Rachel asked.

"No."

"Would you like me to repeat it?"

"Oh, GAWD, no," Santana muttered.

"Down, girl," Mercedes commented.

Santana glared at Mercedes.

"Whoa, play nice," Mercedes remarked.

The African-American diva could swear she almost heard Santana growl after her last comment.

"Rachel, sweetie, everything you do, it either directly or indirectly benefits you in some way," Kurt noted softly.

The brunette felt a lurch in her heart at hearing her best friend once again scold her, no matter how lightly. "I don't see why you are all being like this to me right now!"

Unique sensed the tense atmosphere in the air and decided this was the best time to step out; he took Marley with him.

"Here we go again with the 'me,'" Santana snorted.

"Well, I've grown used to getting this treatment from Santana, but not you guys!" Rachel cried, detesting her voice for sounding so strained at a time when she was really calling for emotional detachment.

"Rachel, oh, no, hon, don't do this," Kurt said in faint volume.

"Don't do what?" Rachel demanded, voice shaking and eyes stinging.

Kurt slowly approached her and lifted a hand to come into delicate contact with her puffy cheek. "This."

Rachel hadn't noticed that stray tears had leaked out and already formed a trail down her cheek. She sniffed. Now she felt like a child. This was so humiliating.

She dealt with this the only way she knew how.

"You guys are insufferable!" Rachel defensively called out, annoyed that her voice had undulated into a whimper at some point during the utterance. "Consider yourselves eradicated from my acceptance speech during my various, future awards shows!"

And she dramatically stormed out like a boss.

Santana sighed.

Mercedes shook her head.

Kurt ran his hand through his perfectly coiffed hair.

Sam made popping noises with his mouth.

Puck barged in.

"I heard someone crying!" he said, sounding out of breath. "Who needs pity sex?"

Santana pointed to Kurt.

Kurt narrowed his eyes at Santana.

Mercedes grinned.

Puck cringed.

Sam made popping noises with his mouth.

~ X ~ X ~ X ~

_I can't believe how underappreciated I am by my fellow workmates! _Rachel thought to herself indignantly, furiously wiping some semi-dried tear trails before the straggling locals of the late afternoon noticed her at her most vulnerable.

Well, it's not like the New Yorkers would care, really, but this is Rachel's train of thought we're talking about here.

_I always have to hold myself up to high standards, _Rachel continued to vent internally. _Granted, nobody's actually pressuring me to be the best, but I personally cannot settle for anything less! It's so hard to be me…_

The short brunette was too preoccupied with her thoughts that she wasn't even aware of where she was heading. She had at some point crossed into Zenith Central Park's vicinity at the heart of the city.

"Someone of my unprecedented grandness could never conceivably be contained," Rache muttered to herself, sniffling a little as she gradually composed herself. "I wish that realization would just hit them already!"

_**THUMP!**_

"OUCH, DEAR BARBRA, who was the delinquent that decided to plant a tree in my path right as I delivered my doleful, internal soliloquy! ?"

Rachel mean mugged the lanky tree.

"Ggggrrrrrhhmmm."

Rachel jumped like Shaggy, except she didn't have a Scooby to catch her, so she landed on the prickly grass, sharp as freshly cut.

"EEEP, GOLDEN STARS, these are alarmingly _pointy_!" Rachel hissed out, suppressing her shriek.

She quickly sprung up to her feet, picking out any grass splinters.

She stared resentfully at the wispy tree.

"Well, I suppose I deserved that," Rachel relented, sighing. "Today has not been a good day. I apologize for having taken it out on you, innocent and inanimate outgrowth of nature."

"Ggggrrrrrhhmmm."

Rachel gasped, startled. "Okay, okay! No, then! Not inanimate! Alive! Very much alive! Yes! And not at all innocent, but big and strong and experienced! Incredibly experienced! I am sure you are far more sagacious than I, as you have declared ground on this turf for who knows how many years—or the many to come! The things you must have borne witness to!"

"Ggggrrrrrhhmmm."

"Y-you do not wish to recall the things you've seen? Well, okay, that's quite all right, we do not have to touch on that at all! In fact, how about we go over the things we find pleasing—such as love, per se. I, for instance, completely _love_ your kind! As a matter of fact, I love them so much, I eat them everyday!"

"Mmmhhhgrrrmmm!"

"I sincerely beg your pardon! I realize that was completely insensitive of me to say! Please, Sir Tree, do not be disgruntled! Don't lay floral curses on me; I have too much talent to pass at too early an age! H-here, I-I'll even consider becoming a Wiccan for you! I-is that not good enough—offering to resign my religion? I'll need to speak and discuss the conversion with my parents first, of course, but then I am free to frolic in a circular motion about your leafy glory and sing and dance with the birds and the bees as we all convene to celebrate your—!"

"So… Noisy…"

"_**AAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHH!?"**_

Rachel quickly shut her mouth.

"Sorry, I meant, _aaaaaahhh_," she contritely whispered out.

But it was too late. Rachel could already hear a rustling sound by the bushes at the base of the tree. Any moment now, vine-like tentacles would shoot out, wrap around her, and constrict the last musical note out of her.

Who knew her first appearance in a newspaper would be her obituary?

_I might as well sing some sorrowful melody as I await my impending death, _Rachel reasoned. _I believe Sarah Brightman would be exceptionally fitting for this morose situation._

" Time to say goodbye

To countries I never

Saw and shared with you "

"When did I get a radio alarm clock?" a voice sleepily yawned out.

Rachel blinked.

"Excuse me, but would you please clear the area?" she politely requested. "I am patiently awaiting my calamitous end, you see."

"But… I live here," the recently emerged blonde countered, confused. "Oh, no, am I getting kicked out? I didn't know I had to pay rent…"

"You live… here…?" Rachel repeated in astonishment. "In the bushes?"

"In a box in the bushes," the girl supplied.

"How do you—why do you—I'm sorry, what's your name?" Rachel inquired.

The tall blonde crawled out of her cardboard box behind the bushes and extended her hand amicably.

"Brittany," she chirped with a friendly smile. "You?"

"Rachel," the brunette enunciated, shaking her new acquaintance's hand. "Rachel Barbra Berry."

"Nice to meet you, Rachel Barbra Berry," Brittany replied excitedly. "That's a really long name."

"Likewise," Rachel responded with a smile. "And you can just call me Rachel."

"I like Barbra."

"You can call me Rachel."

"Okay."

"I wouldn't be so presumptuous as to assume the great Barbra Streisand's name without first having accomplished as many milestone achievements in my career as she has," Rachel explained. "One day, I will be worthy, though."

"Okay."

Rachel smiled.

Brittany smiled.

Rachel continued smiling.

Brittany continued smiling.

Rachel's smile was tightening.

Brittany's smile only grew wider.

Rachel stopped smiling in order to open her mouth and say something.

Brittany's competitive spirit kicked in and she beat her to it.

"Soooo, wha'cha doing hanging around the park this late?" Brittany asked sweetly.

Rachel instantly thought back to her earlier tree-worshipping activities.

"Just appreciating nature," she answered quickly, with a hint of embarrassment.

Brittany noticed the faint crease of distress on her brow.

She patted Rachel on the shoulder.

"No shame," she reassured. "I talk to plants sometimes, too. They're great listeners."

"How did you—?"

"You're a bit of a screamer," Brittany said simply, shrugging.

Rachel blushed, and then cleared her throat.

"I apologize, I must have interrupted your nap," Rachel said, holding her chin up to retain some dignity.

"That's alright," Brittany said cheerfully. "It's too early to sleep, anyway. The squirrels don't like it when I mess up their rest schedules by staying up all night… or is it all morning…?"

Rachel nodded in acquiescence. "Well, the plants may be great listeners, but not as great at doling out advice…"

"You noticed it too?" Brittany queried, interested. "I think it's kind of rude of them. I always tell them about my problems and even help them out with theirs, but they never help me, or even thank me! Sigh, it's always a one-sided relationship with them…"

Rachel quirked a befuddled eyebrow. "I suppose so…"

"I just wish that sometimes they would let me know they're giving some sort of comfort, you know?" Brittany conveyed sadly. "I don't know…. Drop an apple on my head… have a branch slap me… trip me over with a root… just some sort of sign!"

Brittany slumped down on the ground with an anguished crouch.

The short diva went to sit down next to and consolingly stroke the dejected girl. "For live beings, plants can be quite insensitive…"

"First my cat, and now the plants," sighed Brittany, sulking. "Is there something wrong with me? I mean, I never indulged Lord Tubbs in his unhealthy cravings, but that was 'cause I was looking out for him! He really didn't like it at Addicts Anonymous…"

Rachel furrowed her brow.

"And the plants were always taken care of! Mr. Gardener watered them everyday with his hose…"

Rachel's eyes widened, pupils shifting left and right in perplexity.

"I, uh, I—"

Hmm, well, that was a first. Rachel never fumbled with her words, but she found it somewhat difficult to come up with appropriate follow-ups to the girls' comments.

"You don't have to say anything," Brittany ensured sullenly, sensing Rachel's trepidation.

Rachel stopped her succoring ministrations.

"But… I always have something to say," the young singer said, sounding as though she herself couldn't believe it.

"Then," Brittany began, "say something."

"About what?"

"Mmm, I don't know, tell me about yourself," Brittany settled.

Rachel's eyes instantly sparked with enthusiasm, but she quickly thought back to the reason she had sobbingly arrived at the park and politely asked, "Are you sure? I wouldn't want to be too imposing by speaking only about myself. Would you like to go first?"

"Okey-dokey," Brittany conceded plainly. "Once upon a time, a girl named Brittany—me, in case you were getting confused—was born in the—"

"Waiiiiiiit," Rachel interrupted, holding her palm up. "Wh-why are you telling me your life story?"

"Well, you _did _say I could go first," Brittany replied unaffectedly.

"I know what I said!" Rachel responded urgently. "But that was just an articulated expression of social etiquette: you offer a kindness or service, I decline said kindness or service, you offer aforementioned kindness or service again with increased reserved fervor, and I finally accept the offered kindness or service with increased humility and gratitude."

"… You said 'kindness or service' four times," Brittany stated with a blank expression.

"Pardon?"

"I counted," the blonde replied, shrugging.

"Why, I find that it is rather admirable how you were capable of both following my assertion while simultaneously recording the number of times I—WAIT, were you even listening to me at all! ?"

"I got distracted," Brittany blurted out, lightly biting the side of her cheek. "You have a really nice voice."

"So you really weren't—! ? Oh, my, I am beyond flattered, I do appreciate and thank you for your kind remark."

Brittany : Unwitting Master of Deflection.

"No problem," Brittany said with a smile. "I'm just glad you're happy now."

"Now?"

"You looked kind of bummed when I first saw you," Brittany explained.

"Oh… OH… yes, I realize now it might have appeared that way," Rachel said in low volume.

"Appeared?"

"OKAY, okay, I admit it, _yes_, I was quite despondent when we first became acquainted," Rachel rushed out. "Although I certainly wasn't expecting the Spanish Inquisition!"

"But… I don't know any Spanish," Brittany softly demurred, shrinking away.

Rachel noticed Brittany's slight withdrawal and quickly scampered to apologize. "My profoundest apologies! It wasn't my intention for my words to sound so acrimonious…"

Brittany grinned. "It's alright."

Rachel demurely smiled back.

"So, then, you're not going to tell me why you were moping like a sad seal?" Brittany encouraged, sympathizing.

Rachel gasped. "Was I barking like a seal?"

Brittany quirked an eyebrow.

"Yes, not the point, message received," Rachel intoned, chuckling. "Well, how should I commence? The problem has its roots in my small social network of labor-specific colleagues, who do not seem to comprehend the lengths that I must extend to in order to fulfill the destiny I know I am meant and striving for. For instance—"

"No need for big speeches," Brittany simply said, staring at Rachel with a lax, friendly gaze. "Just tell me what's on your mind."

Rachel blinked.

"I… ehem… well, I should say that…" Rachel stopped midway and sighed dejectedly. "It's my friends from work… they're mad at me and I don't know how to fix it…"

Brittany stared off into space, then returned her eyes to Rachel. "Why are they mad?"

"Because of something I did," Rachel said, bringing her knees into herself and locking her arms around them.

"Something you did?"

"Well, maybe I should say it was something I said," Rachel amended.

"What did you say?"

"It was something inane," Rachel replied, ruffling her hair a little.

"Will we be getting into the specifics any time soon?" Brittany prodded playfully.

"Oh, right, of course, I apologize, I am usually so focused, I don't know why I'm being this vague presently," Rachel said sheepishly.

Brittany grinned encouragingly.

Rachel cleared her throat. "Well, the problem is that, they don't seem to believe in me as much as I believe in myself."

"How's that?"

"I'm an ambitious individual," Rachel begins, clearing her throat and straightening out her posture. "When I do something, I always run its potential through to the fullest. I plan to become a splendid Broadway talent someday in the very near future, and I hope to star in countless plays in which I take the lead, both in the script and values sense, guiding my acting troupe to brave through and gain experience from the many theatrical challenges that may be catapulted our way. I love to sing, dance, and act. These three actions constitute my passion. I currently spend my days garnering experience through my job and launch myself front and center to any auditions Broadway holds that might come to my attention. I do everything and anything that I can to accomplish my dream. I wish for it to one day realize quite… rather… intensely."

Brittany hummed pensively, soaking the words in.

Rachel continued to speak, though in a way that would lead one to believe she had momentarily lost awareness of the blonde's presence beside her. "But… my friends do not seem to support me in my endeavors. To my understanding, they believe I am blindsided by my aspirations. They think that I am not considerate enough of others when I strongly feel that I am. My goals themselves are inclusive of others—I seek to entertain people and ease them into a world where their concerns may be temporarily dismissed; all they would need to focus on is the pleasure I may bring them through my voice, dance, and acting. They may enjoy themselves as they become fully engrossed in the stories that plays bring them, the fantasies with happy endings that they themselves wish to procure by the end of their lifetime. Is it so wrong of me to want to bring them that? It's just incredibly offensive for them to say I do not care about people. I always critically watch their performances and provide input so that they may improve. How is that bad? I am _completely_ mindful of others!"

Brittany hummed again, nodding languorously, arms outstretched and palms flat on the prickly grass as she leaned back, eyes closed.

Rachel slapped her hand to her mouth.

"I sincerely beg your pardon," Rachel apologized genuinely. "I did not mean to say so much. Here you are being nice enough to lend an ear, and I gave you a mouthful, which reminds me, that is yet another fault my friends see in me. I appear to talk too much. For me, this is normal, though, my parents have always encouraged me to speak my mind, and thoroughly articulate my thoughts in a way I find will be sensible to others and comprehensively communicate my sentime—oh, there I go again, I think I will just—"

"Tunnel vision," Brittany abruptly blurts out.

Rachel arched an eyebrow in polite confusion. "I didn't quite catch—"

"I think you have tunnel vision," Brittany said, adding more completion.

Rachel mildly frowned.

"I also think your friends are wrong about you," Brittany continued.

Rachel mildly smiled.

"You are wrong, too, though," Brittany elaborated.

Rachel mildly frowned.

"But you guys are both right at the same time," Brittany continued nonchalantly.

Rachel wondered how many more times she would have to switch her facial expressions.

"If I may, that seems to me like a bit of a paradox, what you just stated," Rachel told Brittany, pursing her lips as she stared befuddled at the enigmatic, dubitable blonde.

"You should watch your diet if you don't want to get fat," Brittany suddenly said. "This has been proven over and over and over again. That's, like, one of the only things I know that has tons of research papers with difficult words and even more confusing PowerPoint presentations to prove it. My cheer coach used to tell me that all the time, except she didn't put it as nicely."

Rachel nodded slowly, smiling unsurely.

_Yikes, I really should have brought my cardboard cutout, _Rachel thought to herself, panicking and berating herself for forgetting her purse at her dressing room when she stormed out. _Why do I always bump into the kooks! ? ! ? Oh, God, is this divine punishment for having earlier been so easily swayed to toss my faith and dietary restrictions aside in order to convert into a Wiccan! ? ! ? I ASK FOR FORGIVENESS. _

"Any advice I could give you, though, has no scientific basis," Brittany continued, unaware of Rachel's internal torment. "I wish I could find an old man with a white shower robe, pyjama pants, a stethoscope, glasses, and white hair and a fluffy beard to say, 'Totally!' and make everything I say legit, but I tried that in middle school and the poor man that I dragged to school was arrested under charges of… what was it… necrophilia…I think?"

Rachel sat rigidly. _I think it actually might have been something else that _very closely _rhymes with that word…_

"But I'm still going to dish out my advice because I read once in a pamphlet that an ancient guy from like centuries ago once said that every man wants to be quoted at least once in their lives, or something like that," Brittany explains. "I thought he was way off 'cause I'm a girl and I want to be heard too, but I forgave him because I just assumed he lived in a gay colony somewhere in the Andes back then and women had yet to arrive and conquer the place. They probably didn't know they existed. Anyway, what I'm trying to say is… they had tunnel vision."

_IhavenoideawhathepointisIhavenoideawhatthepointisI havenoideawhatthepointis, _Rachel thought to herself with a static, petrified smile, legs begging her brain to order them into action and haul her ass out of that place.

"I think both you and your friends do, too," Brittany said with a relaxed tone. "You're wrong 'cause you're stuck in a tunnel where you're only looking at the bright, shiny end. Your friends are wrong 'cause they are stuck in a tunnel where they're looking at the sides; I don't think they can see their bright, shiny end yet. You're right 'cause I'm thinking you want to help them see their bright shiny, end. Your friends are right 'cause I think they want you to look at the sides of your tunnel sometimes, too. It's scary to be alone in the dark, and I think they don't want to be left behind staring at the sides, and are a little mad you're the only one that gets a little light. They're totally worried about you, though, from what you told me about them."

Rachel nods slowly, staring at Brittany with attentive eyes. Her legs begin to relax as she realizes she might not have to make a mad dash for her life just yet. "Please, do tell how you deduced the notion."

"You're not full-out living the _now_, you know?" Brittany coaxed. "Like, let's say, you're in a car with your parents, and in the tunnel, and the dark sort of makes you sleepy, and then you wake up and are finally in the light, but you totally missed the journey, even though everything was sort of hard to see while passing through the tunnel, somehow you got through it, but you weren't alone. Otherwise you would have crashed, and that would have sucked. I don't think your friends want you to fall asleep at the wheel. I think they want to help in the drive. Maybe stop for McDonald's along the way or something. I think they want you to be the driver at times for them too."

Rachel suddenly laughed, shaking her head.

Brittany usually perceives laughter as good, but when words come out of her mouth and people laugh, it's not usually the positive type of laughter, in her experience.

She pouts insecurely. "Why are you laughing at me?"

"What you just said was completely nonsensical"—Brittany imperceptibly winced—"yet so enlightening in the most round-about way. I will honest, it might take me a while to completely process this through and decode the metaphor, but I think I received the overall message."

Brittany allowed a small smile to bloom on her lips.

"I thank you for your time," Rachel told Brittany, standing up and patting her skirt free of grass. "I appreciated your words. They were so simple, yet so illuminative."

"Any time," Brittany reassured, back to her bubbly self. "Well… maybe not from 5 to 7, that's when I go hunting for food."

Rachel chuckled.

Brittany stared blankly.

Rachel stopped chuckling. Dear Barbra, was she serious?

"Well, ehem, I should be heading back now," Rachel said softly, sounding somewhat apologetic. "My work hours are about to go into effect and, unfortunately, I have no animate replica to take my shift for me, so I must retire to carry out my job duties."

"Roger," Brittany replied chirpily.

Rachel smiles at the blonde's understanding nature. She found herself at a loss of how to part with her. They just engaged in a rather intimate exchange, so should she just shake her hand? Hug her? Pet her? Sing a farewell song?

She figured she might as well stick to convention

Rachel extended her hand out and Brittany grasped it amicably as they firmly shook their clasped hands.

"It was a pleasure speaking with you, Brittany," Rachel voiced, sounding unnaturally formal after the previous exchange. "I hope life paves a way for our paths—well, maybe, our tunnels—to cross again in the future. I would be delighted to make your acquaintance once again should I be allowed the opportunity."

Brittany sensed the formality and decided to go along with the mood. She could feel through the bodily contact that Rachel seemed somewhat reluctant about... something.

"Clockwise," she replied in her best uppity voice.

Rachel tilted her head to the side and furrowed her brow.

"Oh, I butchered it, sorry," Brittany laughed. "I meant"—she straightened up and attempted to look aloof—"_Likewise._"

Rachel grinned. A curious individual indeed.

The two waved good-bye and Rachel walked away as she made her way back to Katharsis.

She took one last glance behind her and noticed Brittany scrutinizing her box. It seemed to have flattened out, and was hardly holding its cubic shape. She witnessed the blonde trying to fit herself in without it having the box crashing down on her, unsuccessfully attempting to, anyway.

The brunette bit her lip in apprehension.

She really shouldn't be feeling such compunction this profoundly. Up until today, she and that girl were strangers. Sure, they exchanged some kind words and made light chat, but that didn't bind them in any personal way. She shouldn't feel as though she was somehow obliged to do something about her situation. It really bothered her, though. She couldn't leave the girl like that.

_If I were to do that, then what exactly have I learned from that run-on, long-winded, slightly redundant metaphorical comparison to life she so thoughtfully concocted to teach me a valuable lesson? _

Brittany was actually just rambling whatever sensibly popped into her mind, but Rachel didn't need to know that.

She tightened her jaw, raised her head, and with determined eyes briskly strode back to where the blonde was still helplessly trying to keep the flap from smacking her on the forehead every time she went into her box.

"Ehem," she cleared her throat.

Brittany was still fixing the flap with her box.

Rachel blinked, and tried again. "_Ehem_."

Brittany heard the noise and rose up, but collided with the top of her box, ripping it.

Ah, the struggle…

"_EHEM."_

"Are you okay?" softly queried Brittany. "Do you need me to perform the Heimlich maneuver on you?"

Rachel choked, embarrassed. "Ehem." She rolled her eyes; okay, that one was totally incidental. "No, I'm fine, thank you for your concern."

Brittany sighed in relief. "Good, I didn't know how to. I didn't want to stop your heart by accident."

Rachel's eyes bulged. "It's the thought that counts."

Brittany smiled. "But you've been doing that for a while now. Something wrong?"

"Wait, you heard me the first time?"

"Yeah, I thought you were just clearing your throat waiting to say something, so I waited," Brittany explained, shrugging.

Rachel mentally banged her head on a desk.

"I was waiting for your acknowledgment before I proceeded!" Rachel whined, scrunching up her forehead.

Brittany pursed her lips in marginal affliction. Had she missed another important social cue? AGAIN? Sigh, it wouldn't be the first time…

"Sorry," the blonde muttered, shame tinting her tone.

Rachel glanced up at the downtrodden girl.

_Splendid. I come here to offer the girl a helping hand and all I do is further trample on her. Just splendid, _Rachel thought to herself, shaking her head and sardonically congratulating herself on her tact.

"Please do not apologize," Rachel said tenderly. "It was just a passing remark."

Brittany lifted her head, engaged visually with Rachel, and released a tiny smile. "Okay."

Rachel once again felt the determination coursing through her veins. "Well, I suppose you are waiting for me to divulge my reasons for having returned, and particularly after such short period has elapsed following my departure. I have what one would call a proposal for you."

"Wow, I'm flattered, but I think I'm too young for that kind of commitment."

Rachel's eyes popped out of their sockets.

She tried to form sentences out of her currently non-conforming tongue and only ended up sputtering pitifully.

"Th-this is not a proposal! I mean, yes, it technically is, if we analyze the meaning of the word semantically, but that is not the point! What I mean to say was I have a, um, proposition for you! Yes, that's the word, how could it have slipped me! Not marriage. Proposition. As in suggestion."

"Phew, I'm glad to hear that 'cause, while I think you're totally hot, I think we should set up a date and get to know each other fi—"

"I HAVE NO ROMANTIC ULTERIOR MOTIVES!" Rachel yelped, flustered and holding a palm up to indicate "please stop right there, ma'am, seriously treading into some awkward territory."

Brittany simply shrugged and mumbled, "Okay."

"Good."

"But for the record, can I say _I_ broke up with _you_?"

"WE WERE NEVER TOGETHER!"

Brittany stuck her tongue by the side of her cheek, rolling her eyes upwards as she dealt dismissively.

Rachel almost laughed. It was really hard to tell if this girl was being serious or just goofy.

"Anyhow, back to what I was saying," Rachel continued, settling down. "I noticed that you were having some trouble with your humble abode"—she flicked her palm at the pathetic box—"Considering what just occurred, the unfortunate tear of your cardboard residence, I felt that you might need a new place to"—Rachel stopped, rethinking her approach—"I thought you might a distraction. The place I happen to work at is incredibly welcoming. It will help you cope with the sorrow of the loss of your home and clear your mind. So, that way, when you return, you may rethink your next steps more lucidly."

Brittany's face look grief-stricken. "Y-you're right… it was short-lived, but I think I need the right amount of time to mourn my house. I never thought it would go out like this. Why do I hurt the things I love?"

Rachel patted the girl on her back sympathetically. "It is but another phase of life. Do come join me. I'll make sure you leave your troubles behind."

Brittany sniffed, "Thanks, but I don't want you to be a rebound. You deserve better."

"We're not talking a relationship!" Rachel squeaked, once again embarrassed.

Brittany's hid her face and her shoulders shook.

Rachel blew out a breath of amused frustration. _Seriously, is she laughing or crying?_

"So… I work at this night club," Rachel phrased, trying to look as dignified as possible. "Would you like to come…maybe?"

Brittany's shoulders continued to quake. "You need… to get… better lines."

"I'M NOT CHATTING YOU UP!" Rachel cried.

Brittany's face reemerged from the small barrier her forearm bordered before her eyes. She looked completely blank.

"Someone said that to me just the other day," Brittany uttered pensively. "Wow. I really need to get out more. Let's go!"

Rachel was suddenly pulled by the sleeve of her long shirt and dragged out of the park.

Brittany stopped and immediately released her. "Wait, I don't know where we're going."

"Please, follow my lead," Rachel said smoothly, stepping right past Brittany and confidently guiding the way.

"We're going to dance?" Brittany questioned.

Rachel's shoulders scrunched up. This girl. So peculiar. Thank God (Rachel supposed He wasn't so mad at her if He allowed such an interesting person to walk into her life) they for looking at the sides.

"By the way, you should trust me on the diet thing, no lie," Brittany said after a while. "Maybe you should become, like, vegetarian or something. I became one three days ago 'cause the stores wouldn't give me meat. Plants are cheaper."

"I'm already vegan, " Rachel said. "I'm afraid I can't be vegetarian."

Brittany tugged Rachel back and, with a dazzling, amiable smile, said, "Rachel, you can be whatever you want to be!"

Huh.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~

Puck was sliding his fingertips in a controlled and repeated circular motion as he played around with different mixes to his recorded music.

There were some people at Katharsis already, sitting down in the tame restaurant area, being catered to by some of the waiters and waitresses. The establishment didn't become a melting sexpot until much later in the evening, when the comely customers egressed and the swankier ones emerged.

It was getting to be that time and there was no still sign of Rachel Berry.

Puck scratched the back of his neck with the hand that wasn't occupied with the disk.

He was supposed to be on the lookout for the diva, but at this point no one knew where she was. She had just stormed off, with no clear indication of direction.

At this pace, the show would have to go on without her, but that would precipitate some awkward choreography improvisation and song line fillers in part of the rest of the performing girls.

He was confident that Rachel wouldn't endanger her career by missing any shows that could help her develop further as a professional (her words, not his), but as the clock neared warm-up time, he was becoming impatient.

Suddenly, the doors abruptly swung open clanged at the rubber doorstoppers at the sides.

"Never fear, Rachel Berry's here!" the short brunette called out to the main, large chamber.

The clang still reverberated throughout the room and Puck, even with his headphones on, winced in pain.

It was a combination of both her screeching voice and the loudness of the door, really.

Despite the pain, he smirked.

"Well, if it isn't my Broadway Babe," Puck noted sleazily. "Thought you wouldn't show for a sec there."

"Noah, while a reasonable concern, I still find your lack of faith in my person quite insulting!" cried Rachel, offended. "I would never miss a show!"

"Glad to hear it; wouldn't wanna miss those legs even for a night," Puck remarked, shamelessly leering at his co-worker. "You might wanna tone down on the entrance next time, though. You're starting to look like Kurt, except with more BOOM than POOF."

Rachel huffed, though was inwardly somewhat flattered. "I believe that, in order to make an impact, I need to learn to carry myself with the quality of grandeur that in the future my very successful self will need to become accustomed to, and that also includes they way in which I make my entra—"

"Whoa, Brand Barbie, and who might _you _be?" Puck interrupted with a husk and no trace of contrition.

Rachel instantly closed her mouth and glanced at her companion. She turned back to Puck with a radiant smile.

"Noah, I would like you to meet Brittany, a very recent acquaintance of mine whom I have decidedly struck a budding friendship with," Rachel introduced, gently nudging the girl forward. "Brittany, this is Noah, my co-worker, friend, and—"

"—occasional bedmate," Puck finished smoothly.

Rachel cleared her throat. "I was going to say adulating fanboy, but after that comment, I will be sure to prevent manufacturers under my jurisdiction to sell you posters, body pillows, or any items that contain my visual when I become globally famous. I fear for their potential debauchment."

"Nice to meet 'cha, Noah!" Brittany piped up, taking Puck's limp hand from his side and shaking it with a friendly squeeze.

"Call me Puck, Gorgeous Gold," Puck requested with a sensual gruff.

"Is your throat okay?" Brittany asked. "Do you need me to perform the Heimlich—?"

"OKAY, now that proper introductions have been made, let's head backstage so that we may finish getting ready, how does that sound?" Rachel squeaked out hastily, grabbing both of her friends' hands and pulling them as she guides them rapidly to the appropriate destination.

X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~ X ~

Rachel strutted through the back hallway with purpose, with Brittany and Puck trailing behind her.

"Are you new here, babe?" Puck asked suavely, wiggling his eyebrows. "'Cause if so, you might wanna meet my friends, Boulder and Dash."

He flexed his muscles in Brittany's direction as he walked.

Brittany beamed at him. "Nice to meet you two! Here, lemme introduce you to mine, meet flipper and pecker!"

She extended her middle and index finger.

Puck's expression caved. It need not be said which one came first.

"Together, I call them bunny bonanza!" Brittany elaborated eagerly, wagging her digits.

"Well, well, well, look who finally decided to drag their puny ass back just in time for the show," a sultry voice drawled out in a malicious tease.

Rachel harrumphed as soon as she stopped in front of the source.

"Are you going to go off on us like a petulant brat again—"

"No, no, really, the bunny shadow looks more like _this_."

"Babez, I'm sorry, but my fingers just don't twist like that nohow! They're good for… other things, though, you feel me?"

"—_**Sphene**_?"

There was something very imminently dark about the way Santana had called her stage name, and it was _not_ just the bold typeface.

The Latina fiercely arched an eyebrow and flicked a smolderingly questioning glance at a particular member of the duo closing in behind Rachel.

She quickly got the hint.

"San—Sapphire! How presumptuous of you! I will have you know that my posterior is in no way minute and that I had each and every intention to timely make my appearance before the show, as if I could ever miss one!" she defended with an indignant pout.

"Who's your posse?" she inquired indifferently, upwardly nodding with her chin towards the two that grew closer in distance.

They stopped right at her sides, and sparks of recognition ignited.

"Whatever could you mean? You are acquainted with Noah, evidently," Rachel said, gesturing in direction of the devilish boy. "As for the lovely femme on my left, I am sure introductions have yet to be made. Brittany, I would like you to meet—"

"SAPPHIRE!"

The blonde dashed past the short brunette and collided in an embrace with the taller one.

"—Sapphire, whom it appears you are already familiar with. Well, then, Sapphire, allow me to make proper introduction of—"

"BRITTANY, or whatever the hell your real name is, Get. The. Freak. Off. Me," Santana grunted through gritted teeth and poorly veiled distaste, pushing the girl roughly away with both hands.

Puck caught Brittany before she completely lost her balance and fell backwards.

"Whoa, easy on the chest there, Amazon," Puck subtly chastised Santana as he securely gripped a still disoriented Brittany.

"—Brittany, whom it appears you are also acquainted with, and apparently also hold a personal vendetta against. Are Noah and I not privy to some vital information regarding any previous engagement between you two here?"

Santana huffed, folding her arms in irritation. "Spare me the interrogation, gasbag gnome, there's nothing to tell. I came out remind you we only have about 15 minutes before we go on, and heavens _know_ you need to prim up if you hope to get game on this turf, looking like the disheveled dwarf you do right now."

"Dishing out two insults in one sentence?" Puck asked after an appraising whistle. "What's got _your_ panties in a twist, Fire?"

"Oh, now _you're_ 'probing' around?" Santana sneered. "I gotta 'hand' it to you, I'm surprised."

"While I appreciate a good dick joke, I don't think we got time for our little repartee, Sizzle," Puck replied with a smirk. "Now, start talking, tit-tok, tit-tok, tit-tok."

Santana grinned devilishly. "Touché."

"I heard a boob joke," Mercedes said, suddenly materializing from who-knows-where.

"Yeah, me too, what's going on?" Kurt suddenly poofed in.

"Am I missing something?" Artie queried, rolling up the hallway.

"Hold on, wha'chall doing in the hallway?" Unique piped up right after Artie.

"I followed after Unique," puffed out Marley as she tried to regain her bearing following her quick jog. "Is everything okay?"

Santana rolled her eyes. "Great, half our regular staff is here, all we need is Sam showing up!"

"Did someone call me?"

Everyone groaned.

"Well, nice to see you, too, guys!" Sam offered, insulted.

"Lips, what are you even doing here?" Santana called out. "You're supposed to be keeping post at the bar!"

"Nah, it's cool, Puck's got it covered," Sam reassured dismissively.

"Dude, I'm right here," Puck said.

"… Aw, man, you gotta drop the Mohawk, it's getting _really _hard to tell you apart from the other dudes at the bar!" Sam whined.

"Shut up, bitches!" a voice suddenly echoed out.

"Becky!" chided Rachel. "As we have all previously expressed in collective disapproval, we do not appreciate being called any type of vulgar expletive!"

"You did?" Becky questioned incredulously.

"Collective?" everybody else chirped.

"D-didn't you receive my formal statement of disapproval? I wrote it on behalf of all of us…"

Becky shook her head.

Everybody else shrugged.

"I-I placed it in the suggestion box."

Mercedes snorted. "Girl, ain't nobody listen to the haters."

Rachel gasped indignantly. "I will have you _know_ that suggestions do not necessarily carry negative connotations—!"

"Be quiet!" Becky shouted, and everybody else cringed at the sheer sound of her voice.

"Chief has something to say," Becky later added, revealing the laptop she keeps hidden in the large pocket of her chef apron and pulling it out.

Everyone gulped, except for Brittany, as they waited for the screen to turn on.

Suddenly, the screen flickered to life and a tightly aged face came into view, completely blocking out anything that could be shown on the background.

"Hmm, well, what have we here…" the figure in the monitor said right after clucking her tongue. "If it isn't my favorite subservient group of miscreants lounging about the intestinally narrow hallways and rolling over their own lethargic filth. Thank you for bringing me to them, Becky."

"No problem, Chief," Becky uttered.

Everyone remained quiet.

"Now, I'm beginning to wonder, what are you all plotting blocking my imposingly intimidating hallways like the stagnantly hardened mucus of a congested low-life organism with a sinus infection?"

That was a rhetorical question.

Right?

Wasn't it?

Everyone began whispering amongst themselves, wondering if they were supposed to answer or not.

"SHUT YOUR JAWS!"

A hush veiled the length of the hallway.

"Now that I have garnered the attention of all your facial cavities, will someone grow the genitalia necessary to properly respond to my earlier posed query?"

Everyone remained silent, exchanging wary glances amongst each other.

Sue raised an eyebrow. "_Well?_"

"Um."

Everyone turned towards the source of the uncertain voice.

"Hiya, Chief, sir—err—ma'am!" Brittany amended, stepping tentatively forward.

"Hmm, well I'll be phenomenally blessed and strike it opulently rich at a casino in Las Vegas, who the creep are _you_?"

"I'm Brittany S. Pierce!"

"Becky," the Chief sternly called, closing her eyes in mild exasperation.

"Got it, Chief," Becky complied, immediately reaching into her pocket and pulling out a fly swatter.

She smacked Brittany on the side with said fly swatter.

"OW!"

"Now, let me ask you again, Who. The. Creep. Are. You. Really?" the Chief once again questioned, leaning back away from the screen, and making the rest of her vicinity visible. She was at an office of sorts. "I don't remember hiring a golden maned flamingo for my performances. Why are you creeping around here? Are you a spy from Caesura? FIRMLY STATE YOUR INTENTIONS LEST I'M FORCED TO SWAT YOU AGAIN."

"Eeeep, I'm totally innocent!" Brittany squeaked, raising her hands up in surrender.

"Ch-Chief Sylvester! ! !" Rachel yelped out, stepping before Brittany and into the Chief's line of vision. "I-if I may!"

"You have 20 seconds to speak, Statuette," the Chief intoned. "Becky."

"Timing it, Chief," Becky assured. "20…. 19…. 18…"

Rachel jumped and hastily began. "It was me! I brought Brittany here. Or, actually, perhaps in a more profound sense, it might have been her that actually urged me to return. She was incredibly kind to me during my hour of internal conflict and, a-as she hand nowhere else to go, I-I brought her with me. She currently finds herself destitute, desolate, and derelict. I couldn't have possibly left her to—!"

"Time's up," Becky said.

Rachel inwardly slumped.

"I see, so you brought a trailer park bubba into the premises, is what I have gathered from your heartfelt rambling?"

"I'm not really coming from a trailer park, though," Brittany said, pursing her lips in confusion.

"S-she was living in a Home Depot box," Rachel supplied. "Until tonight, when it was accidentally ripped apart."

Brittany rubbed her temples, recalling the devastating tragedy.

Everyone was silent while the Chief rubbed her chin thoughtfully, appraising the blonde standing next to the short brunette.

"I see… and for what purpose did you bring this waif to my humble domain?"

"I… I was hoping for her to be able to entertain herself at the club and forget the loss of her home?"

"Why does your intonation sound like a question?"

"Because… I… had ulterior motives," Rachel relented, looking down to the floor and sighing.

"Explain your covert scheme," the Chief encouraged tersely.

"There was, quite honestly, no malicious 'scheming,' per say," Rachel began. "Only a general hope that maybe my new acquaintance would be permitted to stay a couple of days? Until she found a new home?"

"Spears, any commentary?" the Chief demanded, turning to the blonde.

"It's actually just 'Pierce'—"

"Other commentary?"

"Well, I didn't know she wanted me to stay here," replied the blonde, shrugging. "I thought I told her it was too early to start moving in together…"

"NOT MY INTENTIONS BY A LONG SHOT!" Rachel interjected, embarrassed, clearing her throat.

The Chief deliberated her decision as she raked her eyes over the entire lot at the hallway.

"Gangly Limbs, do you have a job?" the Chief questioned.

Brittany saw that she was looking at her, and thus the question was directed at her.

"Nope."

"A house?"

"Nope."

"A pet?"

"… Not anymore," Brittany whimpered.

"A spouse who turned out to be a terrorist and thus secretly filed divorce while taking custody your illegitimate child and abandoning you to rot in the streets of Zenith while he went out to look for a more promiscuous mistress in the far, war-stricken lands of the Middle East?"

"Hmmm…"

Everyone's eyes popped out.

"Nope, last time I checked."

"Are you an illegal Irish immigrant?"

"No."

"Do you have a degree?"

"No."

"Do you have any skills whatsoever?"

"… Yes."

"Excellent, welcome to your new residence," the Chief welcomed sternly with finality to her voice.

"Sweet," Brittany said, smiling.

"YES!" cheered Rachel.

"PERO QUE DEMONIOS? OKAY, NO, HOLD ON. WHAT! ?"

Santana looked absolutely boggled.

As was everyone else.

"Listen here, Sue, you're not _seriously _letting this… this… bizarre mess of a stranger actually stay here, are you?" Santana questioned with indignation.

"Are your emergency inflatable breasts preventing the sound waves emanating from my vocal chords from reaching your ears?" Sue questioned. "I believe they are, because for one, your cosmetically chiseled heinie dared to call me Sue when it is in your contract that you are obliged to call me Chief, and two, you actually had the nads to question me. Does your impertinence know no legal bounds?"

Santana reddened with barely contained animosity. "Not at all, _Chief_, I was just trying to have you possibly… _reconsider_… the decision you've made."

"Are you implying that I have made a mistake?" the Chief challenged. "Sue Sylvester makes no mistakes; therefore, Sue Sylvester does not 'reconsider' after she has reached a decision."

"But, Sue, you don't understand—!"

"Becky."

Becky smacked Santana on the side with the fly swatter.

"SHIT!"

Brittany's eyebrows dipped sympathetically, wanting to reach out. "Hurts, doesn't it?"

Santana took her words the wrong way and shot a wilting glare at the blonde.

"I'm really not talking to you right now," Santana muttered out, seething.

"Thank you very much, Chief Sylvester!" Rachel said with appreciation. "I'm really thankful you allowed Brittany to stay; we'll all make sure to take care of her!"

The present staff glanced at one another. Seriously, does nobody want _their _input?

"Now, Collectibles, don't get too excited," Sue droned out. "I never said it was a permanent extension of hospitality."

Santana quirked an eyebrow in curiosity.

Rachel's smile dropped.

Everyone else continued their act as spectators and blending into the background like pro's.

"Gangly Limbs, if you are to reside under my tutelage for this temporary period, you are to find a job during your stay," Sue dictated. "Once you have managed to seize some type of work, you will promptly leave this establishment and go find your own apartment. A portion of your first paycheck will go to me as repayment for letting you remain here for however long it takes for you to get a job."

Brittany nodded with determination. "Understood."

"If you can't hold down or never manage to snatch a job, you _will_ be put to use," Sue declared with intensity. "Are we clear?"

"As Windex," Brittany replied.

"Spectacular," muttered Sue. "Becky, take me back to my office."

"You're already there, Chief," Becky replied, confused.

"No, Becky, take Laptop Me back to the office, please," Sue corrected.

"Thank you very much once again, Chief Sylvester," Rachel politely said.

"Thanks so much!" Brittany echoed.

"Wait just a sec, Sue," Santana said.

The laptop was turned to face her. Sue quirked an eyebrow threateningly.

"_Chief_ Sue," Santana murmured out, rolling her eyes. "Where is she even going to stay? There's only _one_ residence room and that's…"

She fiercely tried to communicate her angry discomfort through her eyes.

"You're right," Sue said in monotone. "However could it have slipped me by."

Santana sighed.

"Congratulations, you got yourself a roommate."

Santana's eyes bulged out. "Bend me over and screw me sideways on a park bench, ARE YOU KIDDING ME?"

"By the look of inconsolable desperation and disbelief marring your features, I believe I have already figuratively 'screwed' you," Sue finished, looking disinterested. "Gangly Limbs, Sandbags here will show you around and help you get settled. Did you bring any baggage—emotional or otherwise?"

"Well, I _am_ kind of sad that my cat—"

"Tell it to Sandbags, I'm sure she'd be delighted to hear it," Sue said.

"Sue!" Santana cried out.

"Becky."

Becky closed the laptop. "Talk to the hardware."

Santana palmed her face in frustration.

Everyone was quiet for a few minutes as they watched Becky walk briskly away.

"So…" Puck began. "Welcome to my harem, Blonde Sensation!"

"Ehem, I hope 'I' have been included in that harem?" Unique piped up, glancing at Puck meaningfully.

"Erm… all the ladies are!" Puck reassured.

"Not out of our own volition, though," Marley murmured quietly.

"Brittany, right?" Mercedes boomed out heartily. "Cool to have ya here! Even though you don't work here, I think we'll be seeing you around enough to consider you family. Nice to meet'cha, I'm Mercedes. Stage name: Trixy."

"Hi, I'm Marley!" the seemingly younger-looking girl softly introduced herself. "Stage name: Kiki."

"Well, you I think you probably already heard, but my name's Unique; though out there they call me Sparkz," the cross-dressing boy said amicably.

"Hey, I'm Artie!" the boy in the wheelchair chirped up.

Brittny stared at him intently.

"Um…. Boys don't get stage names here," he supplied.

"Oh, okay," Brittany chuckled, clearly having waited for his cool nickname.

The shorter, pristine-looking boy was the next to approach, although additionally extending a hand in acquaintance. "How do you do? I'm Kurt."

Brittany shook his hand. Kurt added an extra hand and squeezed, making the handshake far friendlier and warm.

"I like your bracelet, by the way," he commented with a radiant smile.

"What bracelet?" Brittany questioned curiously. She looked down at her wrist and found a delicate flower-patterned bracelet. "Wow! I don't remember ever getting one of these! You're, like, magic!"

Kurt took a bow.

"Kurt over here can be a pesky pick pocket trickster, but he can also lay items on you if you're not paying attention," Sam explained with a grin. "Once I woke up with a mustache. I thought I'd hit puberty… but I guess I didn't…"

"Sam, dude, that wasn't magic, that was a prank," Artie said.

"Oh," he said obliviously. "Well, that wasn't very nice, you guys!"

He bristled good-naturedly, and then turned to Brittany.

"So… hey," the blond charmer greeted amiable, widely grinning. "I guess you didn't come back to pay the bill?"

Brittany tilted her head over in perplexity until her eyes widened in realization. "OH! I'm so so so so so sorry! I didn't mean to leave all those drinks!"

Sam laughed. "It's okay! I had enough tips that night so as not to upset the establishment income."

Brittany pouted and her lip trembled. "B-but those were _your _earnings! I can't believe I did that…"

"I said not to worry! I make enough every night," Sam reassured, placating the girl. "That one time is not going to mess me up."

Brittany still looked regretful.

"Um…" Sam wracked his brain for something else to say that would comfort his new friend. "Maybe… if you want… you can pay me back later? Like, after you get a job and stuff?"

Brittany brightened up. "Absolutely!"

"Wait, you guys know each other?" Puck questioned, lifting up both eyebrows. "Dude, like, even if you met her first, I still call dibs."

"Dibs? Like, the ice cream?" Sam asked.

"No one will be staking a claim on anyone tonight," Rachel calmly informed.

Brittany shrugged. "Rachel, I never pegged you for the jealous girlfriend type…?"

Rachel groaned. "For the last time, I HAVE NO ROMANTIC ULTERIOR MOTIVES!"

Santana rolled her eyes. "This is such waste of time. The 15 minutes are almost up! We gotta get on stage already! Move it, ninnies, your feet are stuck in the hallway like a freaking anchor."

"Santana, some of us aren't going on stage, you can't tell us what—"

"Zip it, milksop," Santana interrupted, bending her fingers in a zipping motion.

Kurt gaped indignantly and walked off.

"Wait, your bracelet!" Brittany called out.

"Keep it," Kurt shouted from the end of the hallway. "Consider it a gift!"

Sam stared after him and then turned back to Brittany. "Um… I gotta go see what's up with him. I'll see you around, yeah?"

Brittany nodded with a smile.

Puck added, "And I gotta go cover his shift since some random doppelganger took the post for me, apparently."

Brittany pursed her lips in sympathy.

"Later, babe!"

Artie said, "And 'I' have to go after Puck 'cause he knows nothing about bartending. See ya, Brittany!"

"Bye!"

Unique and Marley scurried over to Brittany. "I hope you like our performance! It's going to be off the hook!"

"I'll be sure to watch!"

The pair left giggling.

Mercedes approached the waving blonde and appraised her. "Well, I hope to see you out there." She glanced to the left and right of the hallway. Santana and Rachel were talking to each other. "Look, girl, just…. Good luck."

She shook her head and chuckled lightly.

Brittany blinked in slight confusion. She wasn't able to pinpoint the expression on the girl's face. "Thanks? Shouldn't I be saying that, since you're about to go on stage?"

Mercedes laughed again. "Yeah, yeah, you know what? You're right. Ha ha ha, yeah. But, still, just keep it in mind!"

"Got'cha," Brittany assured, beaming. "Break a leg!"

Mercedes hurried down the stairs.

"But not really!" Brittany added, just in case. She didn't want the girl to actually think she wanted her to get injured on stage.

Santana ambled over to the girl and wrapped her hand on her shoulder blade. "She knows what you mean," she said, sounding annoyed.

"Yeah? I just wanted to be sure…" Brittany trailed off.

Santana narrowed her eyes at her. "Are you gonna finish that thought?"

"Well, no, not really," Brittany replied. "Don't you have to go out there, too? Do you want my 'good luck' wishes too?"

"I _want_ you in my good graces, but seeing how the only way you can accomplish that is by bouncing your ass out of this place, I don't see how that's going to happen," Santana said with an exasperated sigh.

Brittany shrugged, somewhat bashfully. "I don't think I can bounce on my butt. I tried to do it when I was a kid and stepped down the stairs with my butt cheeks but my mom told me I'd end up with a hernia."

Santana stared blankly.

"O-or my butt would end up so bruised they would have to remove it," Brittany continued. "And waiting for a butt transplant takes forever."

Santana stared blankly.

"And most of them wouldn't match my skin tone or body size," Brittany supplied. "Six-year-old white butts aren't very common."

Santana stared blankly.

"Life with no butt is no fun," she finished shyly.

Santana stared blankly.

She opened her mouth to say something, but just as quickly closed it.

She looked pointedly at Rachel and then back at Brittany.

She then resignedly hung her head and shook it in incredulity.

"Look, just… just… stay out of my way and wait somewhere in the club 'till I come fetch you after the show, you get me?" Santana finally settled, staring moodily at the blonde.

"Roger," Brittany said, nodding and smiling in the Latina's direction. "Good graces!"

Santana shook her head more vehemently and sharply turned to walk the other way, muttering rather loudly, "Good Gracious, THIS. IS. _INSANE_!"

Rachel stepped closer to the blonde, staring after Santana looking contemplative.

She suddenly broke into a megawatt smile.

"She didn't commit defenestration against you!" Rachel celebrated gleefully. "I think we're off to a great start!"

* * *

Hey, guys! I hope the chapter was worth the wait. I realize the chapter was Berry centric on Rachel (#badpuns), but I assure you, the next chapter will contain more of our favorite couple!

I apologize if you feel the development of the main characters' relationships to be slow-paced, but I like to really allow a romantic connection to progress in a realistic sense. I will make it worth your while! The love will unfold~!

Anyway, did you notice that now fanfiction allows you to add up to four centric characters on a story? Check out which other two lovely characters will be a main part of this story, if it isn't obvious already!

On a sad note, I am sure the entire glee fandom has been struck by the wave of grief that was the news of Cory Monteith's passing. I was a bit hesitant about posting so soon after his death, but I decided to go ahead and update this story. Hopefully, the content will help you temporarily cope with these sad news.

I had some plans for Finn in this story, but I am now questioning whether or not to include him. It just feels strange to do so. I'm not sure if to honor his memory by writing him in, or just refraining from adding him to the story altogether, but then come off as insensitive for doing so. Right now, I am somewhat vacillating, but I will have reached a decision by the next update.

What do you guys think?

Thank you for reading!


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